


We All Eat Lies When Our Hearts Are Hungry

by AhaMarimbas



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bars & Pubs, Case Fic, Deception, Doctor/Patient, Drinking, Fake/Pretend Relationship, H/D Erised 2020, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Healer Draco Malfoy, Healing Theory, M/M, Meddling Friends, Medical Examination, Ministry of Magic Employee Harry Potter, Minor Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Minor Seamus Finnigan/Dean Thomas, Non-Consensual Human to Animal Transfiguration, POV Alternating, Post-Hogwarts, Spying, Transfiguration (Harry Potter), Transfiguration Theory, Unspeakables (Harry Potter), injured child, pub nights, spy fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:26:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 25,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27594787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AhaMarimbas/pseuds/AhaMarimbas
Summary: Someone's been attacking unsuspecting victims and Transfiguring them into animals. While the Healers and Aurors race to figure out this mystery, Harry has another, more familiar issue on his mind: Malfoy's up to something.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 62
Kudos: 135
Collections: H/D Erised 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [laughingd0g](https://archiveofourown.org/users/laughingd0g/gifts).



> This story was written for laughingd0g. Their signup really made me laugh, and everything involved managed to inspire part of this fic! I really hope you enjoy it!
> 
> A huge thank you to K and C for their invaluable support in editing this work, for literally revising as I typed and making incredible suggestions! Thank you as well to the mods for being so understanding and patient with me through my extension, and for organising such a wonderful fest!

Agent Delta scowled as they marched down the sterile hallway. Interns were the worst. Logically, Agent Delta understood that as department members were lost to other opportunities, or retirement (or worse—there was no telling in this line of work), their positions would have to be filled by new members. But that didn’t make the interns any less awful. 

It was partly the department’s fault too. Who in their right mind would put an intern in charge of Alternate Entrance Management with no direct supervision? Those were complicated spells for even the most brilliant Charms scholars—nothing a child should be trifling with.

Agent Delta stopped to collect their thoughts before stepping into the Floo. They had to remember that they were once an intern as well, and that everyone had to start somewhere. There were worse things than having to commute between offices because the charm linking them had failed.

But it still sucked. Perhaps they should stop at the Head of Secrecy’s desk and explain exactly how unsafe and inconvenient this commute was. After all, Agent Delta now had to travel by public Floo. The indignity of it was unacceptable.


	2. Chapter 2

Harry cast another Cooling Charm as he crept down the hallway, checking every so often to make sure his feet were covered by the invisibility cloak. It was bloody hot under the thing. He hadn’t noticed this in Hogwarts’ draughty corridors, but now that he was in the bowels of the Ministry, the thick cloak was cooking him alive. Magical Maintenance was probably too chicken to come here due to rumours of Unspeakable experiments being done on unsuspecting employees who wandered too deep into their labyrinth.

His inner sense of righteousness, as Hermione called it, was currently overpowering his discomfort though, and so here he was, lurking around near the entrance to the Department of Mysteries. It had occurred to him that they might have other entrances to their offices—many heads of departments had their own Floo connections, and there were secret passageways all over the place. But since he had no idea where any of those other entrances might be, his only option was to hang about here.

It seemed to pay off today, however, as he heard graceful footsteps approaching at the far end of the hallway. Harry squeezed himself up against the wall and held his breath as they got closer. The hallway was quite wide, but it was a leftover instinct from his Hogwarts days.

His eyebrow shot up as the footsteps rounded the corner and he recognised _Draco Malfoy_. He didn’t know much about what had happened to his school rival in the years since the war. Harry knew he’d become a Healer—they’d exchanged a few civil words at last year’s St Mungo’s Charity Gala—but beyond that, the details of the prat’s life were unknown to him.

Malfoy seemed frustrated today. He was walking purposefully, his lime green robes billowing out behind him. One thing Harry _had_ noticed about Malfoy was that he somehow still looked like a wealthy aristocrat in his lime-green Healer’s uniform. Most Healers Harry had met wore simple trousers and a plain shirt under their robes, but Malfoy was dressed in shades of grey—an ash grey pinstripe waistcoat over a light grey shirt matched with solid ash grey trousers. Harry would never have thought to pair a navy blue tie with grey and lime-green, but it seemed to be working for Malfoy.

Harry watched silently as Malfoy marched along the black tiles. For a moment, Harry wondered if he was going down to the courtrooms on Level Ten, but there were no Wizengamot hearings scheduled for the day. In the few times he’d skulked around out here, however, he’d noticed that everyone who wasn’t wearing the typical navy blue Unspeakable robes had turned and made their way down those stairs. He watched, surprised, as the black door leading into the round room swung open at Malfoy’s approach. That meant that Malfoy had some business with the department—Harry had tried slipping through that door enough times to know how it worked.

Harry remained in that corridor for a while after Malfoy disappeared through the inky black door, wondering what business a Healer could possibly have with the Department of Mysteries. He kept pondering the mystery as he made his way back up to his own office, fully aware that if he was late, Hermione would once again lecture him until his ears went numb. He didn’t mind her being his boss—if anyone was suited to being head of the Ministry of Magic’s Ethical Review Office, it was her—but he knew she sometimes worried that the other employees thought she was favouring him. 

He’d made it to the office just in time, he thought as he slipped the cloak into his bottom drawer. But when he looked up, there was Hermione, arms crossed and an expression that made it clear she knew exactly where he’d just come from.

“Hermione!” He said cheerfully, trying to sound innocent. Her raised eyebrow stopped him in his tracks. It was moments like these that made him grateful that Ron had become an Auror instead of joining them at MOMERO—Ron would have laughed himself silly at how much control his wife had over Harry.

“Didn’t I tell you not to keep that cloak at the office anymore?” she demanded quietly. Harry rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous habit he’d picked up in the past few years.

“I don’t necessarily keep it here… I carry it everywhere I go. Leftover habit from the war, you know?”

“You do not. The only _leftover habit from the war_ that I’ve seen in you recently is your habit of looking for trouble by once again skulking about on the ninth floor.”

_Damn, she was good._

“I wasn’t—”

“My office, now,” she said curtly, turning and marching away. Harry sighed, glancing about the office and relieved to find that only a couple of people were around and that none of them seemed to be listening. He got reprimanded at work embarrassingly often, now that he thought about it. He should probably do something about that, but he couldn’t help it. The only department in the entire Ministry that they hadn’t been able to review and audit in the years since they’d created MOMERO was the Department of Mysteries. Hermione kept telling him not to worry about it, but Harry couldn’t help thinking that someone higher up was threatening her to leave it alone. Hermione definitely wouldn’t take a bribe, and Harry couldn’t help thinking that something scary enough to successfully threaten Hermione was definitely worth looking into.

“I know you’re gonna lecture me about spying on the Department of Mysteries,” Harry started once her office door was closed safely behind him, not even giving her the chance to start lecturing him. “But—”

“No buts, Harry!” Hermione cut him off. “I don’t know what else I can do to get you to stop this obsession with Mysteries. Do you know how long it took me to convince Magical Maintenance to increase the temperature in that hallway to such an unbearable level? They hate doing anything that’ll piss of Mysteries. And yet that still didn’t deter you!”

Harry frowned. “It was _you_ who increased the temperature? ‘Mione, I was sweating buckets!” 

“If you’d had any sense, you wouldn’t have been there in the first place! Harry, you know we can’t be spying on departments. Our process has to be as ethical and transparent as we want theirs to be! How does it look if the one department designed to ensure ethical behaviour in the Ministry is sneaking around?”

Harry knew she had a point. He knew he shouldn’t argue. But today, his efforts had finally paid off—they finally had a reason to push for a review of all activities in the Department of Mysteries.

“‘Mione, I saw Malfoy going into the department today!”

Hermione closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. 

“You have to admit, it’s suspicious! He’s a Healer—why would he be going into the Department of Mysteries? Maybe he’s bribing them into researching something Dark! Or what if they’re doing experiments on people at St Mungos? Oh Merlin, Hermione, this is bad!”

“Harry, shut up,” she groaned. “Maybe he was visiting a friend who works there, or maybe they’re researching something that has perfectly legal medical applications. Either way, it’s _none of your business_.” 

Harry snorted. “I don’t think Malfoy’s capable of friendship,” he mumbled. “Anyways, I’ve never seen Unspeakables bring friends into the department. It’s always just them.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. “And just how much time have you spent stalking around in front of their door to know that?”

“Er…”

“I’m serious Harry, you need to let go of this. Forget Malfoy, forget the Department of Mysteries, and for fuck’s sake stop bringing your cloak to work! Might I remind you that there’s an audit of Quodpot Little League grants that you need to finish before you leave tonight?”

Harry gave a large huff of frustration, but he knew he wasn’t going to get anywhere with Hermione right now. They had pub night with Ron tonight—perhaps she’d be a bit more amenable with a few drinks in her.

* * *

As it turned out, Hermione was even more adamant that Harry drop the topic of the Department of Mysteries after a few drinks. Ron had, predictably, groaned at the mention of Malfoy, and laughed at how easily Hermione managed to best all of Harry’s arguments before swooping her out to the dancefloor, leaving Harry to guard their table and stew about his observations from that afternoon.

So far, he only had two plausible explanations for why Malfoy could be visiting the Unspeakables. Either he was making some kind of deal with them, or they were doing some kind of medical experiments. Of course, if it was experiments, it was possible that it was all completely ethical, or that it wasn’t being tested on humans at all. Harry had to concede that Hermione’s reasoning on that front made sense. From what Harry knew, Malfoy had kept his head held high and built a steady life as a Healer. He wouldn’t be up to anything nefarious. But _what if he was?_

“Stop obsessing over Malfoy, mate,” Ron sighed as he plopped a fresh lemonade in front of Harry. It was Harry’s turn to be designated Disapparator, a practice that Ron always insisted on, even though they never really drank enough to impair their ability to use the Floo when it was just the three of them. “Clearly you’re a little lonely if you’re obsessing over your schoolyard crush again. There’s a friendly new Obliviator from Morocco that I could introduce you to if you’re interested—”

“No thank you,” Harry said decisively. “I’ve already told you hundreds of times that I’m not interested in being set up with anyone.”

“Yeah, we know,” Hermione grumbled. “You don’t want to be set up, you don’t want to flirt with people at the club, you don’t want to use an app or an owl dating service. You just think your soulmate is gonna fall out of the sky into your lap one day, right?”

“Well, not exactly… I mean, you guys didn’t meet through an app or at a club!”

Ron snorted. “You can easily contact anyone we went to school with and ask them out on a date if you’re interested. So why haven’t you?”

Harry shrugged. “I didn’t necessarily mean I wanted to date someone from school. I just… it doesn’t quite feel right to start a relationship like that.”

“So how do you propose you’ll start a relationship, then?”

Harry gulped angrily at his lemonade, thinking the effect might be a bit more intimidating if this was anything other than lemonade. 

“I’ll know it when I see it,” he finally grumbled. 

His friends had been pestering him for a while now to get out in the world and start dating, but it didn’t feel like it should be a high priority at this point in his life. He didn’t feel the same urgency to get into a relationship that everyone else seemed to have. He wanted it, just not badly enough to do something about it.

He wasn’t quite sure how to explain that to his friends, though. Sometimes he thought about just getting it over with and finding someone to go out on a date with. But there was something holding him back that he couldn’t quite pinpoint . 

Not willing to look too closely at this reluctance, Harry turned his attention back to the Department of Mysteries and what they could be doing with Malfoy. He didn’t trust Unspeakables as far as he could throw them; they always acted so superior, as if nothing outside of their offices was worth their consideration. With all of Hermione’s reprimands, he’d started to relent a bit and not focus so much on what they might be hiding. But seeing Malfoy go into the department had put a niggling idea into his head that something was going wrong at St Mungo’s. He couldn’t shake the idea that they might be experimenting on patients. It was an awful thought. But how would he ever find out if they were?

Suddenly, inspiration struck.


	3. Chapter 3

“Next!”

Harry moved up to the reception desk, the returned letter he’d sent the night before clutched tightly in his hands.

“How may I help you?” the receptionist asked. Harry handed him the letter. 

“I wrote to the hospital last night requesting an appointment with Healer Malfoy, but I got a reply that he’s not taking patients right now. I was wondering if it was at all possible to make an exception?”

The receptionist frowned. “I, um… I’m not sure about Healer Malfoy’s appointments,” he said slowly. “Perhaps if you told me what it was for, I could refer you to another Healer?”

Harry shook his head. “I’d really rather see Healer Malfoy. It’s more about trusting the Healer than their specialisation. Surely he can squeeze me in somewhere?”

“Um, let me see…”

The receptionist tapped a large leather-bound log book with his wand, and Harry watched as it flipped through what looked like hundreds of appointments. It finally stopped on a set of blank pages. 

“That’s odd,” the receptionist mumbled. “Um, it seems I don’t have access to Healer Malfoy’s appointments.”

“Oh.” Harry had been hoping that the blank pages meant Malfoy was available, but it seemed he was out of luck. “Could you ask him?”

The receptionist nodded and reached for a notepad, but paused once again.

“I don’t know where his office is.”

It took all of Harry’s willpower not to roll his eyes. Was this guy new?

“Well what department is he in? I can just go up and ask myself.”

“He… what’s his specialisation, again?” the receptionist asked.

“I don’t know. I thought you would have that info.”

The receptionist bit his lip, shuffling about through the log book as if it would give him answers. Harry was considering asking for a supervisor when the receptionist jumped up suddenly.

“Healer Malfoy!” he called out, waving his arms wildly. Harry turned to find Malfoy walking toward them, looking confused. He sighed in relief at his luck—who knew how much longer it would have taken to get an appointment through this clueless receptionist.

“What is going on here?” Malfoy asked, lifting an eyebrow and glancing curiously at Harry before turning his attention to the receptionist.

“Sorry to bother you, Healer Malfoy. Mr Potter here was requesting an appointment with you, but it seems I don’t have access to your appointment logs.”

“I don’t take general appointments with my specialisation, Charles, you should know that.”

That sounded odd to Harry. Charles hadn’t even seemed to know what Malfoy’s specialisation was. The poor receptionist looked suitably chastised and apologised quickly.

“Oh, don’t worry, we all have off days,” Malfoy said reassuringly. He turned to face Harry.

“Why are you requesting an appointment with me, Potter? I’m sure you already have an assigned General Healer.”

Harry thanked whatever deity might be listening that he’d been an irresponsible adult since the end of the war and never actually registered with a General Healer. He didn’t get sick often, and when he did, a bottle of Pepper-Up, some of Molly’s root vegetable soup and a day in bed usually did the trick.

“I don’t have one,” he admitted. “Anyway, I needed someone I could trust.”

“You needed someone you could trust...so you came looking for _me_?” Malfoy didn’t sound like he believed a word of what Harry was saying.

“Well, yeah. I need someone who won’t go running straight to the _Prophet_ , and I _know_ you understand the nightmare that is seeing your personal life splashed across the _Prophet_.”

“Potter, as tempting as it is to tell the media that you had a sore throat, every Healer in this hospital is bound by strict confidentiality clauses in their contracts.”

“I don’t know if that’s enough for me. I’ve heard that selling information about me to the _Prophet_ is lucrative enough to justify breaking a contract. Anyway, it’s not a simple issue. It’s a little embarrassing, honestly.”

Malfoy raised an eyebrow at Harry’s admission. 

“And what exactly is this _not so simple issue_?” 

“I’d rather not talk about it in the lobby. Maybe we could go to your office?” Harry suggested.

Malfoy contemplated him for a moment, a confused expression on his face, before nodding at Harry.

“Fine. Follow me.” Relieved that his plan seemed to be working, Harry followed Malfoy up to the third floor. He wasn’t at all surprised to see the plaque pointing out the Potions and Plant Poisoning ward—Malfoy had always been skilled at potions. What did surprise him, however, was that they didn’t stop at the ward, but kept walking in another direction. There were no signs indicating what the rooms in this corridor were for, and they only passed one person before Malfoy led him into a small examination room. Harry tried not to let his disappointment show—he’d been hoping they would go to Malfoy’s office, but he figured an examination room made sense.

“So... this _embarrassing_ issue?” Malfoy prompted.

“I, uh... well, I’ve been feeling a little itchy… um, down there,” Harry mumbled. He’d rehearsed the lie in his head while waiting in line downstairs and decided that sounding hesitant would make it more convincing.

“Down—you mean your genitals?”

“Not exactly. It’s kind of… behind them?”

“So your posterior? Are you referring to the skin of your buttocks, or closer to the anus?”

“It’s not quite that far back. I don’t know how to describe it.” Harry was hoping that a confusing description would make it harder for Malfoy to see right through his lie, but he was starting to get the feeling that he hadn’t quite thought this through. It was just starting to occur to him that he would probably have to show Malfoy his arse if he didn’t want to admit that this was all a farce. Merlin, he was an idiot. Why couldn’t he have listened to Hermione?

“It sounds like this might be a sexually transmitted infection. Have your recent partner or partners been tested lately? Do you employ protection spells, or Muggle protection?”

He should have known that this would be the conclusion a Healer would come to. He was sure talking about sex was no big deal for an experienced Healer, but it was for Harry.

“I, um, don’t have a recent partner. I’ve never…” Harry trailed off, but clearly Malfoy got the gist of what he was saying.

“Very well. Remove your trousers and pants, and put this on,” Malfoy said, handing Harry a gown. “Let me know when you’re ready.”

Harry sighed as the door shut behind him. What on earth had he got himself into?

* * *

Draco stepped out into the hall, wondering what in the name of Merlin was going on. Why was Potter suddenly so insistent on having Draco treat his mysterious itch? If it wasn’t an STI, clearly one of his Weasleys had played a prank on him and put Bulbadox powder in his pants. Thankfully that was an easy issue to identify, and even easier to fix. He’d have Potter on his way in no time and get back to his work.

It had been jarring, to say the least, when his Monitoring Spells had alerted him to the fact that Potter was asking for him. When Potter’s appointment request had arrived last night, he’d intercepted it from patient relations and sent back a refusal. He’d been hoping that was enough, but clearly Potter was determined. Obviously the poor receptionist had neither known how to contact Draco nor redirect Potter, and so Draco had been forced to come down and diffuse the situation himself.

As Potter opened the door and stuck his head out nervously, it suddenly struck him that he was about to look at Potter’s arse. There was a time when young Draco would have been thrilled to see Potter with his bare arse up in a Healer’s office, but humiliating his rival no longer had any appeal. Especially since said rival possessed a rather nice arse. Taking a deep breath, Draco reminded himself that he was a professional and stepped into the room. 

It didn’t take long for Draco to rule out any possible cause of itching in a man’s nether regions. His Diagnostic Spell revealed no infection of any sort, which matched what Potter said about never having a sexual partner. He ran his fingers carefully over Potter’s skin, even in the most intimate areas, trying to feel for any cuts or bumps, but his skin seemed perfectly fine. Satisfied that he’d done everything to make sure he wouldn’t be getting slapped with a malpractice suit for misdiagnosing the world’s saviour, Draco straightened up and removed his gloves.

“Well, there doesn’t seem to be anything untoward happening down there,” he said, sending a spell at an empty report sheet so that it would record his observations. “Sometimes people feel irritated when their workout clothes are too tight, or when the quality of their lavatory tissue is not so great. If you use spells down there, for cleaning and whatnot, maybe give them a rest for a couple of days and see if that helps.”

“Do you really think it might be my toilet paper?” Potter looked confused at Draco’s suggestion.

“It could be. Muggle brands especially can cause micro-abrasions, almost like tiny paper cuts.”

“Or maybe you’re just a Muggle snob,” Potter accused.

“I assure you, I am no such thing anymore. Muggle brands are less delicate on the skin simply because Muggles cannot weave charms into the tissue. If you’re willing to be cheap about it, I’m sure you could find equally abrasive magical brands.”

“Oh. That… actually makes sense.”

It took all of Draco’s will power to resist rolling his eyes. Instead, he sent the report off to the records department and made his way toward the door.

“If all else fails, you can try a chafing ointment from any licensed apothecary. You won’t need a prescription for it. Good day, Potter.”


	4. Chapter 4

Agent Eta grinned as they handed Agent Delta a pack of Muggle chewing gum. It wasn’t long before the packet had been ripped open and each agent had stuffed two pieces into their mouth. Even secret agents had their vices.

“Anything to report this week?”

“Mostly normal. Secrecy has a new intern who messed up the spells on my office, and someone came looking for me.”

“Really? Who?”

“I’ll give you three guesses. I was almost not surprised when the Monitoring Spells tipped me off.”

Agent Eta laughed. “I know exactly who you’re talking about. Paranoid bastard. He means well though.”

“I know, which is why I didn’t make a big deal of it. Though you won’t believe the story he made up,” Agent Delta added with a laugh of their own. Agent Delta watched as agent Eta blew a large pink bubble. Agent Delta no longer resented their partner for that particular ability, though if they practiced in private in the hopes of one day doing it, that was no one’s business but their own.

“Anything on your end?” Agent Delta asked. Agent Eta shrugged.

“Nothing new, just dealing with the same old issue.”

“Ah. The last strategy didn’t work?”

Agent Eta shook their head. “If I’m honest, I didn’t think it would. The beauty of magic is that if you use it against someone else who can do magic, it’s probably not going to work.”

“Especially against such a powerful sorcerer.”

“I don’t know if sorcerer is quite the right word. But I think a solution might be forming itself.”

“No solution ever forms itself.”

Agent Eta shrugged. “No, of course not. But problems do give up.”

Agent Delta snorted. “Not your problem.”

“We’ll see about that. Personally, I believe that you can get anything to give up if you’re stubborn enough.” 

They stood in silence for a moment. The only sound was the smacking of their chewing.

“So tell me about this ridiculous story he told you.”


	5. Chapter 5

Ron slid into the booth next to Harry with a loud groan. Hermione gave him a sympathetic pat on the back, as if she already knew what was ailing him. Harry sometimes wondered if they had a Legilimency connection to each other, since there was no way she could actually know what it was—Ron had just arrived at the pub straight from work, and all Hermione had received was an owl saying “held up on a case, gonna be late”. Figuring it was a married person thing, Harry turned back to the basket of chips he was sharing with Neville.

“Bad day at work, mate?” Seamus asked, sliding a pint over to Ron.

“Just long,” Ron sighed. “I technically shouldn’t tell you guys, but it’s gonna be all over the _Prophet_ tomorrow anyway. There was an attack at the house of a Wizengamot member.”

“Is everyone okay?” Ginny asked.

“Yeah, it wasn’t a violent attack. Or maybe it was, I don’t know. But no one was _injured._ Rather, the member’s daughter was Transfigured into a Hippogriff.”

Luna’s head snapped up at the mention of animals. She often spent their pub nights knitting rather than participating in the conversation, but creatures usually snagged her attention pretty effectively.

“Human to animal Transfigurations are illegal,” she pointed out. “Not to mention incredibly difficult to do.”

“Hence why they called the Aurors, Luna,” Dean sighed. “So did you guys catch the culprit?”

Ron shook his head. “We’re still investigating. Our priority was turning the girl back into a human. It’s a complicated process, so we took her to St Mungos, but it took the Healers ages to figure it out. They kept insisting it was a Wheeze.”

Ginny and Harry glanced at each other and rolled their eyes. Head Auror Ronald Weasley wouldn’t have taken someone to St Mungo’s if they were a victim of a Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes prank—it was an open secret that he did development for them in his spare time, and was quite familiar with all of their products.

“So did they finally figure out how to help her?” Hermione asked. “Luna’s right that it’s an incredibly difficult piece of magic to cast an attack like that. Transfiguring her back into a human must have been just as challenging.”

“They’re keeping her overnight to make sure everything’s okay, but by the time I left, she looked quite human.”

“I wonder who would do such a thing,” Dean mused. “Do you think it had to do with the Wizengamot member?”

Ron shrugged. “Probably. We didn’t see who did it though. The initial call was just that there was a Hippogriff in the family room, not that there was an attacker.”

“So how did you find out that the Hippogriff was actually the girl?”

“Well they’d realised she was missing by the time we got there. I took charge handling the Hippogriff since I have experience from dealing with Buckbeak, and everyone else spread out to look for the girl. The Hippogriff didn’t bow back, however, and just went over to the mantle and started pecking at all the pictures of the girl. It didn’t take long to put two and two together.”

“I don’t know how you deal with puzzles like that,” Neville mused. “That’s why I like plants. They’re simple and straightforward.”

“Puzzles have always been Ron’s strong suit,” Hermione said fondly. “Though he’s not patient like you.”

“No, I’m not,” Ron agreed. “Which is why I was relieved when they called Malfoy in. He may have been a git in school, but as soon as he showed up everything started moving so much more efficiently.”

Harry paused his munching at the mention of Malfoy.

“Malfoy was the one to heal the girl?”

“No, another Healer did it, but it didn’t seem to work at first. She wasn’t able to speak until Malfoy came and fixed something. All the mediwixen and Trainee Healers seemed to move much more efficiently after he showed up, too.”

“Is he some kind of supervisor at the hospital?” Harry wondered aloud. 

Ron shrugged. “I dunno, and honestly, I don’t care. Tomorrow I’m going to have to deal with the media storm, so tonight I just want to get sloshed. Cheers!”

Everyone raised their drinks and before long the conversation had shifted to the upcoming Quidditch drafts. Any attacks on the family of the Wizengamot were quickly forgotten by everyone other than Harry. He couldn’t help mulling over this new clue about Malfoy. If he was a supervisor, that might be why he didn't take new patients. As a supervisor, he’d also be in a better position to make shady deals with Unspeakables. But surely the receptionist would have at least been familiar with supervisors in the hospital and how to contact them?

That led Harry to another question—which department would Malfoy supervise? If he’d been called in to clear up a Transfiguration, perhaps it was Spell Damage. Or maybe Curses. Though he could have been the only supervisor available at the time of the attack—Harry didn’t know anything about Healer hierarchies at St Mungo’s.

This new information was still at the forefront of Harry’s mind as he got up to head home for the night. He wished everyone a distracted goodbye and already had one foot out the door when Ron and Hermione caught up to him.

“Oh, are you guys heading out too?”

Ron nodded. “Yeah, but we wanted to talk to you before you left.”

“About what?”

“Harry,” Hermione sighed, her tone making it clear he was about to get a lecture. “You’re fixating on Malfoy again!”

“No, I’m not!” he argued reflexively. 

“You barely spoke after I mentioned that Malfoy healed that girl,” Ron insisted.

“I just didn’t have much to say, but I was listening!” 

“Really? Then who did Luna predict will be drafted as the Tornados’ next Seeker?”

Harry bit his lip. He’d definitely missed that part of the conversation.

“Um, Merrick. He’s the best choice, good stats and all.”

“Wrong! She didn’t predict anyone would be drafted, she went on a tangent about Squeaky Plimpies or something in the locker room showers.”

“Harry, you need to stop obsessing about this. So he healed a girl. He’s a Healer, that’s his job. There’s nothing untoward about it.”

“Come on, ‘Mione—if he’s a supervisor he could be up to all kinds of things and get away with them too! Don’t tell me you’re not at least a bit curious about what that smarmy git is up to.” 

Harry was aware that his wild gesturing probably wasn’t helping his case, but he couldn’t help it.

“I’m not,” she said coolly. “Because I have a life!”

Ron sniggered, putting his arm around Hermione’s shoulders. “She’s got a point, mate. You need better hobbies than stalking Malfoy.”

“I’m not stalking him!” Harry insisted, folding his arms across his chest. Why couldn’t his friends understand that this was serious? 

“Mate... my wife doesn’t think about me as much as you think about that git. Just let him go.”

Hermione chuckled, leaning into Ron. “Yeah, Ron’s right. Why don’t you take up knitting or something?”

“Are you serious?” Harry grumbled. “You want _me_ to knit?”

Hermione waved her hand vaguely. “It wasn’t a serious suggestion. Just stop obsessing about Malfoy.”

Harry rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. He knew he wasn’t going to get anywhere anyway. Instead he bade them goodnight when they reached the main road where they parted ways. As he made his way home, he considered for a moment that it was getting colder these days , and a knit scarf might actually be nice to have. Then he shook his head and refocused his thoughts on the important issue—regardless of what Ron and Hermione thought, he needed to find more proof of what Malfoy was up to.

* * *

Draco was ready to bang his head against the wall. Or hex someone. He’d prefer to hex someone, but instead he kept his composure and continued to cast Detection Spells on every single organ, muscle, bone and vessel he could think of. This poor girl had not only been Transfigured by an agressor, but had also been Transfigured back by an incompetent Healer. 

He’d have Stibbons fired for this—the incompetent troll had somehow messed up countless parts of the body when Transfiguring the patient back into a human. The Diagnostic Spells kept coming back inconclusive, so here Draco was, systematically casting Projection Spells on every single body part he could think of with multiple anatomy textbooks lying all over at three o’clock in the morning. His patient had already gone blue in the face from not being able to breath since there had been so few alveoli in her lungs, and then suffered sepsis because she had no glomeruli. 

And then there was the issue of her parents in the waiting room. The hospital had already been put on a discreet lockdown to keep the press out, with Aurors at every entrance and more patrolling each floor. Having so many watchful eyes around made Draco want to go lock himself in his office, but this was one of the rare instances where he had an actual job to do.

Draco had been alerted of the case because of how high-profile it was, which was lucky, because the magic here was incredibly complex—most Urgent Care Healers wouldn’t have been able to manage it. Even Draco could admit that he was struggling, and he was probably the most skilled at Transfiguration in the whole building. He needed to consult a true expert, but talking to the only one who would even deign to give him the time of day was a rather intimidating prospect.

The sun was rising by the time Draco was certain he’d done enough to, at the very least, keep the patient stable for a few hours. He cast a fresh Stasis Charm over the sleeping girl and double checked the Monitoring Charms around the room. With a flick of his wand, the chart updated itself to show that he was now the primary Healer on the case and that no spells were to be cast on her until his return.

“Healer Malfoy!” 

Draco turned to face Alfred Pertinger, 4th seat of Yorkshire in the Wizengamot, and his wife, who had rushed over to him as soon as he’d emerged from their daughter’s room. 

“How is she?” Mrs Pertinger asked frantically. “Is she going to be okay?”

Draco nodded, trying not to let on how exhausted he was. 

“I checked and stabilised every single organ, muscle, bone, tissue and vessel I could think of in her body, and I’m going to consult with an expert today to ensure we can put her completely to rights. We’ve Charmed her to sleep until we’re certain she’s okay, so she won’t feel any pain. There’s no need to worry. From what I gather, she’s going to be completely fine.”

Member Pertinger nodded as his wife slumped against him. Clearly they’d been sitting here worrying all night. Instructing them to find a strong cup of tea and get some sleep, Draco headed off to do the same. 

Ten minutes later, his express owl had been sent, tea had been poured, and Draco was curled up on the sofa in his office and watching the sun rise over the city. Having grown up in the countryside with no buildings other than the Manor visible for miles around, it had been a shock to suddenly work and live in downtown London. The sheer number of people could get overwhelming, which made Draco grateful for the isolation he usually worked in. But as time went on, he’d got used to the bustle of the city and it had eventually become exciting to him.

He still loved rural life, however. Especially around forests. Which was why, when the owl returned with an invitation to lunch in Hogsmeade, he didn’t hesitate.


	6. Chapter 6

Draco was greeted by sheer noise as he stepped into the Bronze Head Tavern. He would have preferred a more quiet place for their discussion, but he was quite sure he was no longer welcome in either The Three Broomsticks or The Hog’s Head. Trying not to dwell on that, he made his way over to a booth in the back where McGonagall was already sipping on a Gurdyroot infusion.

“Headmistress. Thank you for meeting with me today.”

“You can call me Minerva, Draco. You’re an adult now. Have been for a while.”

“I… okay.” His stuttering only seemed to amuse her.

“I’ve had many prior students who struggle with addressing me by my first name. Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it.”

“I hope so.”

A young witch popped up at that moment to take their orders. McGonagall—because she’d always be McGonagall in his head—watched her go before turning her attention back to Draco.

“So what did you want to discuss?”

Draco drew his wand and cast a bunch of complex Privacy Spells over their table. McGonagall raised an eyebrow at him.

“Is all this really necessary?”

“It’s a matter of patient confidentiality. If you didn’t insist on meeting outside of the castle, our conversation could have been much more secure,” he pointed out.

McGonagall frowned at him. “I’m sorry, Draco. You know I don’t trust your department. I refuse to have spies in Hogwarts.”

“Yes, you made that clear when you fired Drover.”

McGonagall seemed saddened at the mention of her former Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor, but her resolve didn’t waver. “I wish she could have stayed. She was an excellent teacher. Just as I’m sure you’re an excellent Healer. Which is why I’m curious about what you might need my help with.”

“We have a patient who was attacked in an unusual way. She was Transfigured into a Hippogriff. One of the General Healers Transfigured her back, but many of her internal organs and such didn’t Transfigure back correctly. I was up all night checking her organs one by one but I still can’t be certain everything’s okay. I was hoping you’d have a useful trick to help?”

“Human to animal Transfigurations are a complicated subject. Even most NEWT students don’t learn more than the basic theory. I can only think of one Healer who graduated in the last three decades to whom I’ve taught such advanced Transfiguration.” She gave him a meaningful look.

He stifled a smile. “Yes, well, it wasn’t Stibbons, and yet he tried to heal her anyway.”

McGonagall sighed. “While human to animal Transfiguration is complex, it is manageable by most people who do their NEWT in Transfiguration. Part of our intrinsic magic records the original state of the human, so that when they are transferred back from the animal state, the caster’s magic restores them exactly as they were, without conscious thought from the caster.”

“So if I had Transfigured her into the Hippogriff and then back, she would have been perfectly fine?”

“Exactly. But because Healer Stibbons wasn’t the one to Transfigure her in the first place, his intrinsic magic had no record of what her original state had been. Thus, she was Transfigured into whatever he was consciously thinking consisted of a human child at the time. Since he likely didn’t know about this principle, he probably wasn’t thinking of every single component in her body, which created an incomplete child.”

Draco had suspected as much but it helped to know McGonagall agreed. 

“So the only way to make sure she’s okay is what I just did? To go over everything in her body and make sure it’s all in place?”

“Well, if you’re confident you can visualise a whole and healthy child, I’m sure you could Transfigure her incomplete body into a whole and functioning one.”

Draco frowned. “One of the basic principles of Healing is that you cannot Transfigure an unhealthy body into a healthy one. Most individual organs, yes, but not the whole body.”

“And why is that?” she prompted.

“Well, when a patient is ill enough that we don’t have another cure, there’s usually an issue within their magical core, or else within their genetic makeup. Transfiguring their body into a healthy one wouldn’t last because the issue would reappear and make them ill once more. In fact, most Healers theorise that the body would degrade even faster the second time round.”

“Exactly. Personally, I believe that’s your solution.”

“But I can’t—oh.” Draco was so absorbed in his thoughts about the case that it took him a moment to realise McGonagall was right—the patient’s magical core hadn’t caused the issue, so theoretically, Transfiguring her should work.

“Now if you don’t mind removing these ridiculous spells, I am rather hungry and would like for Sarah to be able to find our table sometime today.”

“One more thing. Do you know of anyone who would be capable of such a Transfiguration? The Aurors are investigating, but a list of suspects could help.”

“I’m surprised you’re asking that. You’re a Healer, not an Auror.”

“We both know I’m neither,” Draco sighed. “I couldn’t get hired as a normal Healer.”

“Draco. Just because you became a Healer through a different avenue than most others does not make you any less of a Healer. We both know that you would have got accepted the first time round if it wasn’t for our society’s lingering prejudice.”

“Regardless, I’m investigating what happened so a list of people capable of this attack would be helpful.”

“I’m not so sure it would be. You only need people who could have Transfigured her into a Hippogriff. That might indicate someone with a good knowledge of Hippogriff anatomy, but generally anyone with a NEWT in Transfiguration could do it. Perhaps when you have more details about the suspect, I can create a more specific list for you. But even then, there’s no guarantee this person studied at Hogwarts or that they didn’t learn the necessary skills after graduating.”

“This is getting complicated,” Draco groaned. 

“I agree. Perhaps a break and a meal will help you sort your thoughts out.” Before he could respond, she had dismantled his Privacy Spells and waved the server over. Deciding it was never worth arguing with Minerva McGonagall, he resigned himself to a lunch of chicken pie and pleasantries with his old headmistress.

* * *

It had been a week since Draco had had lunch with McGonagall. He’d discharged the girl three days ago and spent the rest of his week cooped up in his office, contemplating how to catch the culprit. It had been peaceful work, but now was the time for urgency. 

He stepped into the lobby, having received a Patronus from the Auror liaison that there had been another Transfiguration attack and that the victim was being brought straight to the emergency department. They didn’t seem to have arrived yet, and so he looked around, only to see… _Potter._ The prat was back and asking about Draco again, if the Monitoring Spells going off on his wand were any indication. He crept closer, listening to Potter’s conversation with the receptionist.

“How is it that no one knows how to get ahold of Malfoy?” Potter demanded. The poor receptionist bit her lip. 

“Healer Malfoy doesn’t take general appointments, you said so yourself,” she pointed out. 

“It’s not an appointment, really. It’s a pretty personal situation that I need to see him for.”

“You’re welcome to leave a note for him if you want?” she suggested. “I can give it to his department.”

“Do you even know which department he’s in?” Potter asked skeptically.

The receptionist was silent for a moment. “Did you mention something about Spell Damage?”

“Well, I know he was Healing a patient who had been Transfigured. And he’s a supervisor, right?”

Draco was hard put to keep from laughing. As if anyone in this blasted hospital would make him a supervisor. Though when he really thought about it, he was _informally_ supervising.

What was really alarming him, however, was that Potter knew he’d helped the girl. The story had been all over the papers, but thanks to the media liaison for the department, Draco’s name had been kept out of it. He had to talk to Potter and figure out why the man was so insistent on speaking to Draco, but he didn’t have time to “examine” Potter’s arse right now—there was an urgent case coming in. It was a shame… Potter did have a rather nice arse.

And that was when inspiration struck.

“Potter,” Draco said, stepping out from around the corner. “We’ve made it clear that I don’t take general appointments. Why do you insist on pestering the poor reception staff?”

He shot a gentle smile at the receptionist, who smiled back shyly. “I’ll take it from here, Carly, thank you.” He gestured for Potter to follow him off to the side.

“Malfoy, I—”

“Is this about the same issue as last week?”

Potter hesitated for a moment, before nodding.

“My, my, Potter. If you were really this desperate for me to look at your arse, you could have treated me to dinner first.”

Draco prayed to Merlin, Morgana, Circe and Salazar that he wasn’t blushing too hard. It was fairly obvious on his pale skin. It didn’t seem to matter, though, because Potter went beet red.

“I… you… that wasn’t…” Potter spluttered, clearly not having expected Draco to start flirting with him.

“Really Potter, it’s courting 101. Dinner first, then, if both parties are amenable, sex.”

“Malfoy, what are you talking about?!”

Draco gave an exaggerated sigh. “Fine, if you really don’t know how it works. Will you have dinner with me this Friday? 6PM, at the _Brasserie Savoie_.”

Potter stared at him for a moment, jaw hanging open. 

“Are you asking me on a date?”

“Ah, so you _do_ have a brain. I was wondering if there was more to you than a pretty face.”

Merlin, flirting with Potter was fun! It didn’t hurt that Draco had been crushing on him since they were teenagers. But this was for work. He was, after all, a professional.

“Why are you asking me out?” Potter demanded. Draco shrugged.

“You seem so interested in me, always showing up and asking questions. Join me for dinner and we can get to know each other properly.”

He could see the cogs working in Potter’s brain. Clearly Potter was trying to find information about Draco. Dating him would be the perfect way to not only divert him from the hospital, but also to keep an eye on him and whatever he was investigating. Draco was about to congratulate himself on his brilliant plan when he noticed four Aurors step out of the Floo herding a large animal that he couldn’t see clearly from this angle. This wasn’t going to be good.

“I’ve got to go,” he said, before Potter could reply. “I’ll see you Friday, yeah? And for Salazar’s sake, please register with a General Healer _who isn’t me!_ ”

Without waiting for a reply, he ran off in the direction of the Aurors, and what looked suspiciously like a Bicorn. Dammit.


	7. Chapter 7

Harry watched, dumbfounded, as Malfoy rushed away towards a group of Aurors herding a cow with a horn down the hall. Why had Malfoy just asked him out? And more importantly, why had Harry agreed?

He replayed the conversation in his head, only to realise that he hadn’t actually agreed. Malfoy had just assumed he was amenable and ran off. He tried to squash the small part of him that found that level of confidence incredibly hot while debating whether he should actually show up for this date or not. The _Brasserie Savoie_ sounded like a very posh place, and this was _Malfoy_. They’d fought all their lives. Two brief, civil conversations were no guarantee that they would get along.

But Harry had to know what Malfoy was up to. And what better way to do that than to _date him?_ People in romantic relationships knew all kinds of things about each other. They usually spent lots of time together, and even visited each others’ homes. Surely getting close to him would be a perfect way to figure out what Malfoy really _did_.

Harry was still thinking about it as he made his way home. Logically, it seemed like the perfect plan, but there was still that bothersome voice in the back of his mind reminding him that he’d never dated anyone before. Not properly, anyway—neither he nor Ginny really considered their brief two months at school a proper relationship.

But then again, this wouldn’t be a real relationship either, right? It was just to be able to figure out what Malfoy was up to. Surely that wouldn’t take too long. They’d have dinner together a few times, and then once he knew what deal the git had made with the Unspeakables, Harry could simply put an end to it. 

By Friday morning, Harry was a nervous wreck. He’d been letting his brain run wild over the past few days, considering all the _what-ifs_ involved in pretending to date Malfoy. What if Malfoy figured out what his plan was? What if the Unspeakables started targeting him? What if Malfoy wanted more from a relationship than Harry was willing to give him?

“Harry? What’s wrong?”

He looked up to find Hermione standing next to his desk, staring worriedly at him. He considered telling her—she always gave him solid advice when he needed it—but then thought better of it. She wouldn’t approve of his plan to spy on Malfoy by dating him. She’d say it was unethical, and that Harry was obsessed for no reason. Even worse, she’d tell Ron, who would start insisting that they set Harry up with someone.

“What makes you think anything is wrong?”

“You’ve been distracted for a couple of days. Your notes on the Apparition Permit Office’s payroll audit make no sense.” She handed him a file he had no recollection of working on. Had he really been that distracted?

“Oh, sorry ‘Mione. I’ll redo it right away.” He flipped the file open to find a copy of the _Brasserie Savoie_ menu sticking out from behind the second page. He’d been perusing it yesterday, hoping to decide in advance what to order on his date with Malfoy. The less he had to focus on the date, the more attention he could put into questioning Malfoy.

“Oh yeah, that restaurant menu was also mixed up in the pages,” Hermione pointed out. “Are you planning to go there?”

Harry shook his head. “Uh, no, I just… someone was handing them out on the street, I just shoved it into my bag. It must have got mixed up with the audit. Sorry, I’ll redo this correctly.”

Thankfully, working on the payroll audit seemed to take Harry’s mind off of his date for the rest of the morning. He signed the last page around lunch time, made sure the menu wasn’t mixed into the file and handed it to Hermione before heading out for his lunch break.

Harry made his way down to the cafeteria, scoping out an empty table in the corner and settling down with his sandwiches. He took a satisfying bite of his tuna egg salad before taking out the menu and scrutinising it once again. The menu was in French, but it had English descriptions under each item. He vaguely remembered Fleur during the Triwizard Tournament when he read _bouillabaisse_ as an option, chuckling at the memory of Ron getting flustered in her presence. He remembered not liking the dish, though he wasn’t sure if that was just due to his limited palate at fourteen. He spared a moment to wonder if Malfoy would call him tacky for ordering a burger at such an upscale establishment, before chiding himself for worrying about what Malfoy would think. This wasn’t even a real date after all.

Harry finished his sandwich, and then flipped over the menu and spent the rest of his break scribbling a list of questions he should ask Malfoy. He kept glancing at his list several times in the afternoon, trying to commit his questions to memory until it was finally time to head to the restaurant.

As predicted, the _Brasserie Savoie_ was a very elegant-looking establishment. Malfoy was already sitting at a table when he arrived, dressed as posh as ever in a tailored navy blue suit and reading the contents of a green folder. Harry was just wondering if he might get a chance to peek at the folder, when the hostess approached him. He waved her away, hoping to be able to sneak up behind Malfoy. Unfortunately, Malfoy noticed him walking over and slipped the folder into his robe pocket, which must have had an Undetectable Extension Charm on it. He was surprised to see Malfoy stand up at his arrival, though that was nothing compared to him pulling out his chair for him. Harry had thought that was only a gesture made in movies and felt oddly flattered as he sat down.

“Harry. I’m glad you could make it.”

Harry nodded, a little thrown off by Malfoy’s friendliness. 

“This is a nice restaurant,” Harry said, feeling stupid. Of course it was a nice restaurant—anyone with eyes could see that.

“I was hoping you would like it. Shall I order a bottle of wine for us?”

Harry nodded, and took the opportunity to look around as Malfoy flagged down the server. He didn’t pay much attention as Malfoy placed their drink order, though by the time the server returned with the bottle and two menus, Harry’s attention had shifted to the man in front of him.

Malfoy looked well. A little tired, sure, but he seemed strong and healthy. Harry didn’t usually notice things like that about other people, but it was a stark contrast to the Malfoy he remembered from the war. 

“So, how was your day?” Malfoy asked as he opened his menu. 

“Um, it was fine. Did some payroll auditing. My job isn’t as exciting as yours must be.” 

Malfoy gave him a small smile. “Exciting isn’t necessarily better,” he pointed out. “Surely you of all people know that.”

“Are you calling me boring?” Harry asked, unsure if he was teasing or not.

“I don’t think _you_ are boring,” Malfoy said easily. “But when I asked about your day, all you could mention was payroll auditing.”

There was a retort ready on his lips, but Malfoy’s smile made it clear that he was the one who was teasing here. Harry chuckled, letting it go as he turned the conversation back on Malfoy.

“Sounds like you’ve been doing some interesting work recently.”

Malfoy nodded. “A Healer’s job is always interesting. The human body can be very complex. Healing and caring for it even more so.”

“Why did you want to become a Healer then, if it’s so complicated?”

Malfoy’s smile turned nostalgic.

“I’ve always loved a challenge. Figuring out puzzles was my favourite pastime. As I got older, the challenge of understanding the complexities of the human body really started to draw me in. I spent hours during my seventh year researching how potions interact with human organs, how spells can alter genes, how easily a person’s magical core can repair torn limbs.”

“That’s interesting. Most Healers usually say something about wanting to help people, or that it pays well.”

Malfoy snorted. “I don’t know which Healers you’ve spoken to recently, but it takes a while to gain the type of seniority that pays well. As for helping people, I’m sure everyone has that innate desire to make the world a better place. Training to become a Healer, and then actually doing the job, is difficult. You have to have more than a sense of decency to motivate you.”

At that moment, the server reappeared, ready to take their orders. Harry glanced quickly at the menu to double check that the ravioli was still an option before placing his order.

“Excellent choice, _monsieur_. And for you?”

“I’ll have the cheeseburger with additional bacon and a side of chips, please.”

“Of course, _monsieur._ Your food will be out shortly.” 

Harry was stunned. Had posh, wealthy Malfoy just ordered the cheeseburger? Clearly oblivious to Harry’s surprise, Malfoy resumed the previous conversation.

“Think about it this way. You enjoy helping people, do you not?”

Harry nodded, trying to focus his attention back on the conversation. Of course he liked helping people.

“But you wouldn’t want to be a Healer, would you?”

“Of course not. Honestly, it seems like an exhausting career.”

Malfoy nodded. “You have your own way of helping people just like I have mine. If everyone who wanted a career where they could help people became a Healer, a lot of them would quit very quickly.”

It made sense to Harry. Everyone contributed to the world in their own way—he and Hermione kept the Ministry in line so that it could continue to serve the magical population the way it should. Ron kept the community safe as Head Auror. And Malfoy healed people when they needed it. He Transfigured animals back into humans, and helped people who… well, Harry wasn’t sure, but now seemed the perfect time to find out.

“So, what type of Healing do you do, exactly?” Harry asked. He watched carefully as Malfoy sipped his wine, searching for any hint of a lie, but he was composed as ever.

“Well, the thing about being a Healer is that regardless of any specialty or regular practice, all Healers are well versed in the various facets of Healing and medicine. Just like anyone else working at St Mungo’s, my skill set lies in everything from biomechanics to epigenetics, from endocrinology to pharmacology. Many people who knew me as a teenager tend to assume I work in potions, because of Snape’s mentorship, but overall my work lies in modern tertiary practice.”

“I’ll admit, I thought you did potions too,” Harry said casually. “You took me past the Potions and Plant Poisoning ward last week.”

Malfoy chuckled. “I was just looking for an empty examination room. There are usually a few near the Potions ward because the rate of potion-related accidents has been going down in recent years. It’s actually an interesting development; the Healers who studied it noticed that fewer people brew their own potions these days, which means more people are using products from licenced apothecaries. Which is great news for the apothecary industry, but it makes me wonder about people’s potions skills these days, if they don’t need it for…”

Harry continued to listen as Malfoy talked about people not brewing their own potions anymore. It was interesting to think about—Harry himself relied heavily on apothecaries for his potions since he’d never learned anything about them. He’d never considered that if he’d had a better education on the subject, he might have been able to brew his own cure for boils or Pepper-Up. 

The conversation continued to flow as their food arrived. The ravioli was delicious, and Malfoy somehow managed to make eating a cheeseburger look graceful. He even offered Harry a few of his chips, which were coated in some fancy seasoning but tasted incredible. 

“Can I interest either of you in dessert?” 

“Oh, the crême brulée here is to die for,” Malfoy exclaimed. “Would you like to share one?”

That sounded awfully intimate to Harry, but he didn’t know how to say so without sounding rude—they were on a date, after all. He nodded meekly, and cast around for something to say as the server cleared their table.

“So you’ve been working on those Transfiguration cases, right? How is that going?”

“How did you know I was assigned those cases?” Malfoy asked, frowning at Harry. “It wasn’t in either of the articles.”

“Oh, Ron told us. He said you took over when he brought the first girl in.”

Malfoy contemplated Harry as the server set the crême brulée on the table and offered them both spoons.

“I’m generally not supposed to talk about it. But I’m sure I can trust you.” Malfoy cracked the surface of the dessert, taking a small bite before continuing.

“It seems someone has been going around Transfiguring people into animals. It’s complicated to do and even harder to undo, so it usually takes me three or four days to treat one person.”

“Why would anyone want to Transfigure someone else into an animal?”

Malfoy shrugged. “I was wondering if it could be revenge. The first patient was the daughter of a Wizengamot member. But the second patient had nothing to do with either of them. His brother is an advocate for magical heritage who’s won some high profile cases to protect magical nature reserves, but that’s the only time anyone from their family has interacted with the Wizengamot.”

“You know a lot about the case for a Healer,” Harry pointed out.

“Don’t let me finish all of this,” Malfoy said, indicating the dessert that Harry had yet to try. “And hospital staff tend to know more than people think. The Aurors usually interview patients while they’re still in the hospital—we overhear things. We just don’t tell the world because we’re good at maintaining patient confidentiality.”

“Can’t be that good at it if you’re telling me.” Harry took a bite of the crême brulée—it _was_ delicious. He took another bite as Malfoy laughed.

“Are you saying I can’t trust you? I’m sure you won’t go blabbing about this to the press.”

“No, of course I won’t.” 

“Well, then. There you have it. Anyway, the _Prophet_ already reported on what happened. Anyone who thinks about it long enough would come up with the same conclusions.”

“It always unsettles me when the _Prophet_ has details about what a person was treated for at St Mungo’s. And then you wonder why I don’t trust most Healers.”

Malfoy’s demeanour suddenly went serious. 

“Harry,” he said, putting his spoon down. “I need to make it clear that I can’t be your Healer. I don’t take general appointments to start with, but it’s also strictly unethical to date a patient. You really should register with a different General Healer.”

Harry hesitated, but then nodded. There wouldn’t be much need to see Malfoy at the hospital if Harry was dating him.

“Does that mean you want to have another date?” Harry asked, his heart pounding in anticipation. Malfoy seemed to relax again, and gave Harry a soft smile.

“I would like to. I enjoyed our time tonight.”

Just then the server slid the bill onto the table between them. He was discreet, but it drew their attention anyway.

“Why don’t you finish dessert while I go settle this,” Malfoy suggested, already getting up from his chair.

“Oh, no, let me,” Harry said quickly, reaching for the bill. Malfoy was closer, however, and swiped it from the table. The interaction reminded Harry of the way they used to race to the Snitch back in school, each striving only to be faster than the other.

“Nonsense. I asked you out, it only makes sense that I treat you to dinner.”

“Malfoy, are you sure?”

“Draco,” Malfoy interrupted. “Call me Draco.”

“Draco, then. At least let me split it with you.”

Mal—no, Draco smiled at the sound of his first name, but didn’t relent. 

“Let me treat you to dinner, Harry. Next time you can do the asking and it can be _your_ treat.”

Before Harry could so much as nod, Draco had already walked off towards the hostess station. Deciding he might as well listen to his date, he finished off the last couple of bites of cream before joining Draco out front. He was once again surprised when Draco held the door open for him.

“Thank you for dinner,” Harry said, stepping out onto the street and suddenly feeling shy. 

“It was my pleasure. I had fun tonight, and I hope you did too,” he said with a smile. “I’m going to Apparate from here. Good night, Harry.”

“Good night, Draco.”


	8. Chapter 8

“Another case? Do you think they might be related?”

Agent Delta nodded. “It was the same magical signature. Or at least a very similar one. I didn’t have a sample from the first case to compare the second one to, but I could feel the magic.”

“You know you should always take samples,” Agent Eta chided. Agent Delta glared.

“It’s very involved magic! Figuring it out the first time was a nightmare so forgive me if the last thing on my mind was collecting a magical signature. Anyway, the Auror team should have collected one from the house.”

“They did,” Eta pointed out. “But they couldn’t match it to any records, so the only thing it’ll tell you is that you’re looking at the same assailant in both cases.”

“See, everything works out.”

“That’s what I said last week. Have you had any more visits?”

“Yes, and just as my second case was coming in too. It’s honestly becoming a nuisance.”

Agent Delta hesitated. It was standard protocol to exchange plans and updates with Agent Eta, in case either one was ever compromised—that way the other could take over their assignments. But Agent Delta’s recent decision had been a little… unorthodox.

“Which is why I asked him out on a date.”

“You… what?”

Agent Delta shrugged. “We had dinner last night. I think it went well enough that we’ll do it again.”

“I didn’t know you were… interested.”

“I’m not!” Agent Delta exclaimed, a little too quickly. Some secret agent they were. “It’s to be able to keep an eye on him, to know how far he’s digging.”

Agent Eta burst out laughing. “How do you know he’s not doing the same?”

That made Agent Delta chuckle. “I’m pretty sure he is, actually. But this way I can control how much information he has rather than having him snoop around the hospital. I’ve already had to Confund two receptionists.”

“It’s a high price we pay for keeping secrets.”

“Truer words have never been spoken.”


	9. Chapter 9

Draco looked up from the form he was filling out when an owl tapped on the window of his St Mungo’s office. He waved his wand to open it and the owl landed neatly on his desk. He untied the letter and offered the owl a treat, wondering if it could sense the magic that had brought it from the sixth floor of the hospital to the bowels of the Ministry.

After a few days of nagging, the intern at Alternate Entrance Management had finally fixed the spell that connected Draco’s office at St Mungo’s to his lab in the Department of Mysteries. Draco could do it himself, of course, but as the Unspeakable Liaison to St Mungo’s (or Unspeakable spy, as the Unspeakable spies called themselves) he had more important things to do. Like figuring out who was Transfiguring people into animals.

He’d been finishing the paperwork to refer his second patient to a Mind Healer and mulling over the facts he had about the case. It was definitely the same culprit, but he couldn’t figure out what the connection was between the two victims. His discussion with the Unspeakable Liaison to the Aurors hadn’t provided any ideas either, but neither of them wanted to sit around waiting for a third attack.

Deciding a break would be helpful, he carried the letter over to the sofa in his Healer office. It turned out to be a note from Harry asking for a second date. 

Draco couldn’t help smiling as he thought about their dinner a few nights prior. It had been fairly obvious that Harry was suspicious of him, especially considering how many questions he had asked about Draco’s work. He’d spent most of the evening talking in circles around his profession, hoping to misdirect Harry’s attention. He’d done his best not to lie directly to his date; as natural as it was for him sometimes, Draco wasn’t a fan of lying. It _was_ necessary for his work, however. He couldn’t have Harry snooping around the hospital and finding out that Draco wasn’t really a Healer.

Harry had seemed quite charmed by their first date, however. Draco had done his best to remain charming and confident, a strategy that had clearly worked very well if Harry’s blush at the end of the night was any indication. A small part of him dared to hope that he might actually be able to charm Harry Potter, but he squashed the thought immediately. He simply had to convince Harry that there was nothing to be suspicious about. Once he was sure Harry trusted him, he’d make some excuse and end their relationship.

As he Summoned a sheet of parchment to reply to Harry’s letter, he couldn’t help lamenting the fact that being an Unspeakable was lonely business.

* * *

Harry’s heart was racing as he touched down at the edge of the park, Draco landing right behind him. They’d been flying for over an hour, racing each other around the grassy plains Harry had located on a map the night before. It had been ages since he’d flown like that and he couldn’t help grinning at Draco. Draco grinned back, waving his wand at his windswept hair to nudge it back into place. 

“Glad to see your desk job hasn’t left you out of shape. I’d forgotten how much fun it was to fly so competitively.”

Harry nodded. “Me too. It seems I never get outside these days. I guess it doesn’t help that the Ministry is underground.”

Draco laughed. “Trust me, being in an above ground building does nothing to guarantee you get time outside every day.” He shrunk his broom and put it in his pocket, before nodding toward the small town just down the lane. “I’d love to take advantage of the nice weather today. Fancy a stroll through the village?”

As had been the case with their first date, the conversation was surprisingly pleasant and easy. They meandered their way through a farmer’s market, down a bustling street not unlike Diagon Alley, and finally decided to sit on a patio outside the local coffee shop, chatting all the while. It wasn’t until Draco started lecturing him about how unhealthy the sugary syrups in Harry’s blended drink were that Harry remembered why they were there in the first place—he was supposed to be keeping an eye on Draco.

He had actually been keeping an eye on Draco all afternoon, but in a more literal sense. The man was very fit, and his arse looked fantastic on a broom. Harry had lost more than one round of catch-the-Snitch because he hadn’t been able to stop staring. It wasn’t just his body, either. Draco had a confident smile that made Harry pause every time he saw it. It was nothing like the malicious smirk he’d often received in school—rather than make him angry and agitated, it set him at ease for reasons he couldn’t quite explain.

As attractive as he was, the fact remained that Draco Malfoy was up to something, and Harry needed to figure out what. He should ask something about Draco’s work, but he’d barely understood what he’d said about it last week. Perhaps clarification on what his job actually was would be a good place to start.

“So, I have a confession,” Harry said carefully. He looked up to find Draco staring at him with wide eyes, as if Harry was about to reveal a huge secret.

“I don’t think I quite understood what your job actually is when you explained it on Friday. You used a lot of words that I didn’t understand, which I’m guessing are healer vocabulary.”

“My apologies, Harry. I didn’t mean to confuse you. Was there a specific word that you wanted me to explain?”

Back at school, Harry would have assumed that Draco was mocking him, but he sounded quite genuine in his offer. Harry cast about for a moment, trying to remember what one of the unfamiliar words had sounded like.

“Um, you mentioned something like epi… epigeneology?” That sounded right to Harry, but he could tell Draco was trying not to laugh.

“I think you might have confused a couple of words there,” Draco pointed out. “Epigeneology is a thing, but it’s not common at St Mungo’s. Generally, when a word has the suffix ‘-ology’, it means the study of something. For example, Magizoology is the study of magical creatures. Healing classifies a lot of disciplines this way such as physiology, which is the study of how humans bodies function, or psychology which deals with mental processes. As Healers, we apply these fields of study to diagnose and heal our patients.”

“As fascinating as this lesson in old Latin words for healing is—”

“Actually, the suffix ‘-ology’ is Greek,” Draco interjected. “But I apologise, you were saying?”

“Well, I was just wondering, what do _you_ do all day? What does a day in the life of Draco Malfoy look like?”

“I must admit, it’s usually pretty boring. People think of healing as a glamorous job, but it’s mostly a lot of paperwork. There’s a form for everything. Every appointment needs a report, every potion needs a prescription, every transfer needs a whole stack of forms. There’s even paperwork for when you forget to do the paperwork! I understand that it’s for record keeping, in case something goes wrong, but whenever there’s a need to verify old paperwork, it suddenly becomes impossible to retrieve it from the archives. If it’s not a clearance issue, it’s a supervisory issue, or sometimes it’s even just a problem with the outdated charms in the filing room…”

Clearly getting a straight answer out of Draco wasn’t going to be easy. He let Draco continue to ramble on about the bureaucracy and inefficiency in the hospital’s hierarchy while thinking about the fact that this was just another challenge. He and Draco had spent their lives challenging each other, whether in class, on the pitch, or during the war. After such a long rivalry, they were attuned to each other in a way that no one else was, always waiting to catch the other slip up.

As they finished their coffees and parted ways for the night, Harry started to wonder what had really come from the last two dates. It seemed he was no closer to figuring out what Draco even did, let alone how he might be connected to the Department of Mysteries. Every time he tried to ask a question, he got caught up in Draco’s obvious passion for his work, and any hope of uncovering his plans got side tracked. It was starting to seem like a futile effort.

But if his plan wasn’t working out, then why was Harry dating him? It would probably make more sense to end things now, and solve this mystery a different way. He had to admit, though, Draco was attractive, in more ways than one. In just two dates, he’d shown that he was clever, charming and considerate, and Harry was genuinely enjoying his company. He couldn’t actually fancy Draco Malfoy… could he?

Harry shook his head to rid himself of the ridiculous direction his thoughts were taking. Of course he wasn’t falling for Malfoy. He was probably just caught up in the nerves and emotions of dating someone for the first time—he hadn’t realised that pretending could be as frightening as he’d always imagined the real thing to be. He was nothing if not a Gryffindor, though. He could deal with frightening things. It couldn’t hurt to see Draco a few more times, just to be absolutely sure that he wasn’t up to anything. In fact, it was Harry’s duty, if anything. 

And if he went on a few more fun dates while doing so, well, that was just an added bonus.


	10. Chapter 10

Harry wandered through the sterile hallways of St Mungo’s, following the signs for the cafeteria. He’d learned his lesson about trying to find Draco the last few times he’d come to the hospital, and owled ahead, letting him know that he wanted to take him to lunch. Draco had replied with a hasty note that he was too busy, but Harry had insisted, and they’d compromised by agreeing to have lunch in the hospital’s cafeteria.

Harry was sure he’d be successful this time. They would be sitting among his colleagues, so Harry was bound to overhear something important, and he was sure he’d be able to convince Draco to let Harry walk him back to his office after lunch. It was foolproof.

Checking his watch, Harry was delighted to notice that he was early. He selected a table right in the middle of the cafeteria, hoping to encourage more people to stop and chat. 

It wasn’t long before Draco swept into the cafeteria, looking as posh as ever. Harry noticed that the three piece suit under his robes was once again a stark contrast to the other Healers in the room, most of whom were wearing scrubs, or loose trousers and t-shirts. He was once again carrying a green folder, and Harry was itching to know what was in it. 

“Harry! Thanks for agreeing to come here. I know it’s not the most romantic lunch spot, but I don’t have much time today.”

“Oh that’s okay,” Harry said, waving away Draco’s concerns and standing up. “How long do you have? We should eat, so that you don’t go back to work hungry.”

“I don’t have long, so yes, that’s a good idea.” He turned toward the lunch counter, and Harry was about to follow, when Draco stopped. 

“You should take your jacket with you,” Draco said. “I don’t like to say it, but things go missing pretty easily in such a public space.”

Personally, Harry thought stealing in a hospital was an awful thing to do, but then again, he wasn’t very fond of stealing no matter where he was. 

The cafeteria didn’t have a very wide variety of foods, but Harry wasn’t picky—he decided on a sandwich and a bag of crisps almost immediately. Draco, however, was a different matter. He hemmed and hawed over the soup selection, before turning his attention to the self-serve salad bar. It wasn’t long before he was back in front of the soup case, however. Harry was surprised at his behaviour—Draco had decided what to eat on their previous dates much more easily.

“Are you okay?” Harry asked, after yet another minute had passed. “You seem to be having some trouble deciding.”

Draco sighed. “I just… they’re not labelled. That yellow soup looks like it could be butternut squash, but it also looks like it could be broccoli-cheddar. I don’t like drinking the sharp taste of cheddar, but the sweetness of squash would be very welcome right now.”

“Why don’t you just ask the staff?”

Draco frowned at the thought, before shaking his head. 

“Won’t go well,” he mumbled, turning away from the soup once more. “I’ll just have a salad.”

Harry was confused. Why didn’t Draco just want to _ask_? He marched up to the counter, and flagged down a cheery witch. 

“Hullo dear, what can I do you for?”

“Could you tell us what that yellow soup is? My friend was wondering.”

“Of course. It’s a butternut squash, with carrots and roasted bell peppers. One of my favourites. Shall I serve up a bowl for you?”

“Yes please,” Harry said, nodding at the witch. He glanced back at Draco. “See? It’s the one you wanted.”

Draco nodded, though he still looked unsure about something. Unsure why he was being so shy, he turned back to the witch behind the counter, whose cheerful expression had suddenly melted away.

“Malfoy,” she muttered, reaching for a bowl. Harry’s eyes widened as he realised that Draco had been so hesitant because he was afraid of his colleagues’ judgement. He wondered if this was isolated to the cafeteria staff, or if Draco had to deal with this kind of behaviour all the time.

The cafeteria witch slid the bowl aggressively across the counter, which caused some of it to splash over the side. Draco didn’t say anything about it, instead reaching into his pocket and pulling out a couple of Galleons. 

“This isn’t properly filled,” Harry said, feeling more and more annoyed with every moment. He’d been leaning over to ask if she had anything to wipe the side of the bowl with, when he’d noticed that she hadn’t even given Draco a full serving. The man worked long and hard hours—a half bowl of soup wasn’t going to be enough to sustain him.

The server looked like she had a retort for him, but a look of recognition suddenly crossed her face. Harry usually hated being so famous, but he was definitely going to take advantage of it here. He held her gaze as she seemed to be deciding between being rude to the ex-Death Eater or acquiescing to the saviour’s wishes.

Finally she took the bowl back and added more soup, this time filling the bowl right to the brim. 

“Together or separate?” she asked, moving towards the register. Draco slid two Galleons over to her without saying anything—more than enough to cover both their meals—but rather than waiting for the change, he leaned forward to try to pick up the precarious bowl. Draco pulled his hand back suddenly—the bowl must have been very hot.

“Can you give him a tray?” Harry said pointedly. The cafeteria witch shook her head. 

“They’re all dirty.”

Harry looked pointedly at her colleague at the far end of the counter, who was handing another client a tray with chips on it, but she remained silent.

“ _Impervius_ ,” Draco muttered. Harry shifted his attention to Draco, who was now picking up the bowl without flinching, though it was still very precariously balanced. If his hands shook too much, he’d probably spill it on his folder, or himself.

“Why don’t I hold that for you?” Harry offered, reaching for the folder. Draco merely shook his head and walked away, leaving Harry to follow after shooting a nasty glare at the cafeteria witch.

Harry was dismayed to see that their table had been taken by a family with young children. He should have left his jacket on the chair to save their spot. Draco led them to a table in the back corner. Harry was about to suggest they not sit somewhere so secluded—he’d never overhear anything back here—when he remembered the interaction they’d just had. It was no wonder Draco wanted to sit far away from everyone else.

“That was awful!” Harry groused as soon as they were seated. “How dare she treat you like that.”

“It’s fine, Harry,” Draco said calmly, putting his folder down on the table. 

“It’s not fine!” Harry wasn’t sure why he was getting so worked up about this. There was a time when he would have loved to see his rival treated so badly. It wasn’t like he and Draco were friends—they’d only been on two dates, after all. Harry hated seeing prejudice like this, though. He hadn’t fought in the war for people to continue discriminating against each other.

“She didn’t even give you a spoon. And most places serve soup with a roll, or some croutons on it, don’t they?”

“I’m not worried about the spoon,” Draco said lightly. He pulled a quill out of his robe pocket and Transfigured it into an elaborately engraved spoon. “And this soup will be quite filling, there’s no need for bread with it.”

He took a hearty bite as if to make his point, but Harry wasn’t ready to drop the subject yet.

“Do your other colleagues in the hospital behave like this?” he demanded. “You should report her behaviour! She has no right to treat anyone like that!”

Harry was gesturing angrily as he said all this, and slapped his hand down on the table for emphasis. Unfortunately, the puff of air from his hand coming down shifted the folder, which slipped over the edge of the table and went tumbling down to the floor. He scrambled out of his seat to help gather them all together. 

As he picked up a couple and offered them to Draco, an apology ready on his lips, he noticed that the pages he was holding were blank. Looking around at the others that he hadn’t picked up yet, he found that they were all blank. His apology melted away as the curiosity took over.

“Are you carrying around a folder of blank pages?” he asked, reaching down to gather more of them. Draco got down next to him to help with the task.

“No. They’re charmed for patient confidentiality, so that only people who need to see what’s written here can.”

The explanation made sense, but it was another dead end for Harry’s investigation. Not that he’d had any idea how he would have read the contents of the folder anyway.

“Thank you for your outrage, Harry,” Draco said once they were seated again. “It’s rare that people are on my side in this situation. But please don’t worry about me, I’m used to it. The important thing is that I’m here to help my patients, and that alone brings me enough joy to ignore the rest.”

Harry nodded, his anger dampened by the fact that his outburst had caused such a mess. Draco clearly didn’t want to dwell on this right now, and pushing the issue wasn’t going to further Harry’s cause either.

“How is your patient? I read in the paper that the victim of the second Transfiguration attack is still here.”

“Yeah. The magic involved was a little different from the first patient I treated since this is an adult, but overall things have been going smoothly.”

“That’s good to hear.” Harry paused to take a bite of his sandwich, and almost gagged on the disgusting taste. He ripped open the bag of crisps and shoved a couple in his mouth, glad for the salty taste. “Have you heard anything about who might be behind these attacks?”

“Unfortunately no. The victim is always alone when it happens, and neither of them remember anything. It’s definitely someone who knows a lot about creatures though.”

“You thought the first victim might have been a case of revenge, right? Since she was the daughter of a Wizengamot member?”

Draco nodded as he swallowed a mouthful of soup. Harry could only hope it tasted better than whatever was in his sandwich.

“Everyone thought that. The motive with this second attack isn’t very clear though. All I know is that the patient’s brother is an advocate for magical heritage spaces. But his organisation never made many enemies, so I—they’re not sure.”

“I wonder why the attacker is Transfiguring people into animals. It seems a weird way to get revenge on someone.”

“Honestly, I’m quite fed up of wondering the exact same thing. Let’s not talk about this anymore—tell me about your work.”

Harry shrugged. “There’s not much to tell. It’s mostly just reviewing financial documents and writing reports to bureaucrats explaining that they’re wasting money.”

“Yeah, that sounds on par for the Ministry. Who did you catch wasting money today?”

“The Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee had an unusually high post budget this quarter. They probably have staff who are sending and receiving personal mail at the office, but their mail records are such rubbish that we’d never know for sure. That’s my job for this afternoon, to create a usable set of records for their post.”

“Sounds like you’re just creating more bureaucracy,” Draco pointed out. “I would be so frustrated to have to record every piece of mail I send.”

“Well St Mungo’s has an Owlery, doesn’t it? The problem with the Ministry is that it’s underground, so keeping owls for external mail isn’t a very feasible idea. The Ministry has a Post Department that collects the post from every department and sends it out through the local Owl Office. Unfortunately, that costs money, so the Post Department keeps track of how many letters are sent by each department, and charges them for it at the end of the month.”

“I didn’t realise so many logistics went into sending mail,” Draco mused. “Or that it cost money, to be honest. You’re right that we have an Owlery here, so I guess sending letters doesn’t cost more than the care for the owls.”

“It’s pretty lame,” Harry admitted. “I hadn’t really been exposed to arithmetic growing up, but when Hermione taught it to me after the war, I really started to enjoy it, which is why I handle a lot of our office’s financial auditing.”

“That’s great, Harry.” Draco cast a quick _Tempus_ , then glanced at Harry’s barely-eaten sandwich. Draco’s bowl was empty.

“I’m sorry to leave you to finish eating on your own, but I have to dash.” He stood up and took a moment to straighten his robes, before picking up his folder.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Harry said, standing up as well. “Go ahead and take care of your patient.”

There was a pause, during which neither of them knew what to do. Harry was sure that people in romantic relationships usually had some kind of affectionate gesture when they parted ways—Hemione and Ron always gave each other a kiss, but that seemed a bit much for him.

Deciding a brotherly hug would be appropriate, Harry stepped forward, but at the same time, Draco turned to leave.

“Well, I should—oh, sorry was there something else?” He turned back to face Harry, who was now mortified to be frozen with his arms halfway up in what was clearly an aborted hug.

Luckily Draco seemed to have a lot more tact than Harry, and picked up on what was happening right away. He stepped forward, accepting the hug for a moment, before turning once again toward the door.

“Bye Harry,” he called over his shoulder, and Harry was relieved to see that he was smiling.

Berating himself internally for being so awkward, Harry watched Draco walk out of the cafeteria, and counted to ten for good measure, before Vanishing the awful sandwich. He spared a moment to lament the loss of his lunch, before deciding he’d be better off picking something up from literally anywhere else. He’d saved the world—surely he at least deserved a decent sandwich.


	11. Chapter 11

If there was one certainty in the world, it was that Draco hated reading Ministry documents. They were usually tedious and full of unnecessary information. Thankfully they had adopted the use of Handwriting Charms on their quills a few years ago—certain reports had been completely illegible before that change. Not that Healers had any better penmanship than anyone at the Ministry, but at least the hospital had adopted Handwriting Charms well before Draco had arrived. 

Trying not to get distracted with thoughts of horrible penmanship, Draco turned his attention back to the Auror report from the morning his second patient had been admitted.

> 
>     Upon arrival and assessment of the situation, Auror Griffin decided not to notify Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures due to unusually docile nature of Bicorn. Creature identity was determined by Auror Rivers. Auror Rivers sent support call at Auror Griffin's request. Head Auror Weasley responded at 10H36, and took charge of the situation.
>     
>     Head Auror Weasley contacted St Mungo's (Contact Person: Healer Draco L. Malfoy) to notify of impending arrival of Transfigured victim (arrived at 10H57 via unsecured Floo connection). Case was linked to case number 150683 due to identical M.O. 
>     
>     

Draco rolled his eyes at the thought of the hospital having an “Unsecured Floo connection”. The hospital Floo connection was very secure—it simply hadn’t been verified by the Aurors, which was why they usually Apparated in when they could.

> 
>     Further investigation by Auror Griffin and Head Auror Weasley revealed matching magical signature traces at both crime scenes.
>     
>     Additional noted details: No sign of forced entry, further supporting conclusion that victim was Transfigured at the scene. Security wards expired, no record of entries.
>     
>     

This report was proving to be useless. Aside from the knowledge that a prominent activist wasn’t clever enough to update their wards, he already knew all this information. It was impressive that the Aurors had displayed the presence of mind to come to the conclusion they had—most people would simply have panicked and run away screaming at the sight of a Bicorn. It had certainly been Draco’s first instinct when they’d brought it in.

He had discharged the second patient two days ago, after deciding that his organs were all stable, and there was no more information to be gleaned from questioning him. He’d been cooped up in his office ever since, requesting documents that might provide useful clues, and mulling over the information he’d collected. 

As had become his habit the past few days, Draco turned to stare out the window, allowing his thoughts to drift. The sky behind the London skyline was a beautiful blue. He couldn’t help thinking that this would be a perfect day to go flying. 

Aside from his second date with Harry, he hadn’t flown in ages. Truth be told, it was a little boring on one’s own. He had been riveted by the thrill of chasing a Snitch and racing Harry around the countryside that day, and was longing to do it again.

Not that the flying had been the only part of that day that he’d enjoyed. It was proving easier than he’d expected, though just as enjoyable, to charm Harry. Draco had no problem admitting that Harry was attractive, especially after he’d stood up to the cafeteria witch on Draco’s behalf. That encounter had surprised Draco the most. If Harry thought Draco was up to something, why had he come to his defense? It was clear proof, in Draco’s opinion, that Harry was becoming more comfortable around him. 

At least one of his missions was working out. Wishing they could both be that easy, he turned his attention back to the Auror reports.


	12. Chapter 12

“So I guess you’re the type who believes in being _fashionably late_.”

Draco grinned as he turned to face Harry, who was offering him a champagne flute. They weren’t attending the St Mungo’s Charity Gala together, but it had come up during their last date that they would both be in attendance, and Draco had been thrilled at the thought that there would be someone he could talk to here. His work didn’t exactly allow him to make many friends in the healing community, and most of the politicians who attended these events were unbearably boring.

“Honestly, I wasn’t sure I’d make it tonight. I got a third case yesterday, and it’s been slow going. Thankfully I had the foresight to bring my formal robes with me to work.”

Harry nodded sympathetically. “You must be exhausted. I wouldn’t have blamed you for skiving off and just going home.”

“And miss a chance to see you?” Draco protested, hoping he sounded seductive. He’d never thought of himself as a very flirty person, but something about talking to Harry made him want to constantly flatter him. It seemed to be having the desired effect though—every time he said something flirty, Harry developed a lovely little blush.

“I… that’s not—” Harry spluttered.

“I must say, you’re looking very handsome tonight. You clean up well, Harry.”

“I could say the same to you. I wouldn’t have guessed that you came straight from work.”

“I have my ways,” he said mysteriously. He glanced around the room, spotting Granger and Weasley standing by one of the ballroom’s massive windows. There were a few other people he recognised around the room but none were nearly as compelling to talk to as Harry.

“Are you here with anyone?” Draco asked. He probably shouldn’t monopolise Harry’s time, even though he wanted to. Thankfully, Harry shook his head.

“You know I’m not.”

Draco shrugged. “I wasn’t sure. Your friends seem like the type to set you up with the first available person they see.”

“Oh Godric, they are. It gets bloody annoying sometimes. Thankfully they didn’t say anything about tonight.”

“I’m guessing they don’t know about our recent dates?”

Draco instantly felt bad for bringing it up. There was guilt written all over Harry’s face, as if he was trying to come up with a plausible reason why he was keeping his meetings with Draco a secret. He was about to spare Harry the embarrassment and say something about it still being early, when he felt it.

Over the last two weeks, when he hadn’t been spending time with Harry, Draco had been obsessing over the Transfiguration attacks. The only thing that linked all the cases together was the weirdly specific attack and the culprit’s magical signature. Draco was intimately familiar with that magical signature by now, having spent hours reversing their magic in an effort to heal his patients. So to feel it here at the St Mungo’s charity ball could only mean one thing— _the culprit was here._

He tried to remain discreet as he glanced around at everyone in the vicinity. Unfortunately, it was a crowded room and with no other clues to rely on, Draco was at a loss. The feeling of the familiar magic was already dimming.

“Draco? Are you okay?”

Draco snapped back to attention as Harry waved a hand in front of his face. He’d completely tuned out of the conversation in his desperation to find the attacker.

“Sorry, I must be tired from work. What were you saying?”

“I asked if you’d want to come to the pub with my friends. We all meet up once a week at the Leaky Cauldron. You’re right, I shouldn’t keep you a secret, and the pub will just be the easiest way to meet everyone at once.”

“Oh, Harry. I was just teasing. We’ve only been on a few dates, there’s no rush to tell anyone.”

Harry shook his head. “I know, but I want to. Unless… you don’t?”

Draco wasn’t prepared for how insecure Harry looked. He shouldn’t care—they weren’t _really_ dating, after all. It was probably in his best interest to keep this whole thing a secret. Harry was rather famous, and if it became public knowledge that they were dating, it would become very difficult for Draco to end things.

“No, of course we can tell your friends. I’m sure a pub night will be lovely.”

Harry brightened considerably at that. Draco made a mental note that this was an interesting development. Harry seemed a lot more comfortable around him compared to their first date, and now he wanted to share this with his friends? It seemed Harry wasn’t very suspicious of Draco anymore.

“What about your friends?” Harry asked innocently. “When can I meet them?”

Draco bit his lip. How could he explain his solitary lifestyle to Harry without giving himself away?

“I, uh, don’t really have anyone worth telling,” he mumbled. “I lost touch with most of my friends after school.”

“Oh? Well, what about colleagues from work?”

Draco gestured to the room at large, trying to dispel the awkward pause as they both remembered the incident in the hospital cafeteria. They’d been on a couple more dates since then and while Harry had continued to ask all sorts of probing questions, they hadn’t talked about Draco’s colleagues any further.

“They’re mostly all here.” He let Harry believe that he was talking about the hospital staff. The truth was, many Unspeakable liaisons held high level positions in society that got them invited to these types of events. There was the Associate Editor of the _Daily Prophet_ , the Strategic Director at Gringotts Bank, and even the Chair of the National Quidditch League—all of them were Unspeakable spies who kept an eye on the major institutions of the wizarding world and handled any major problems that arose. He knew that Harry, who had built a career in ethics review, would never approve of such a system. It was a little discouraging, but Draco was a professional who had a case to manage.

“What, should I go up to the front of the room and make an announcement?” Harry teased.

“Of course not. You must master the art of subtlety when making such announcements.”

“How exactly do we announce to all your colleagues that we’re dating in a _subtle_ manner?”

Draco smirked, holding his hand out to Harry.

“May I have this dance?”

Harry was a surprisingly competent dance partner—he danced like he flew, with power and grace. Draco asked when he’d learned ballroom dancing, but didn’t pay attention to the answer. The magical signature felt strong again, and Draco couldn’t help glancing about once more, trying to gauge if anyone nearby looked particularly guilty.

“You too!” Harry called, startling Draco out of his thoughts once more. He fumbled the twirl, and crashed into Harry.

“Are you okay?” Harry asked, leading him off the dance floor. “I didn’t mean to startle you, I just wanted to reply to the couple who wished us a goodnight as they passed us.”

Draco nodded, straightening his robes.

“Sorry, I’m sure I’m not much fun tonight. I don’t mean to keep losing focus like that.”

“It’s okay. You’ve been working hard, I’m sure you’re tired. Why don’t I take you home?”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” Draco said hurriedly. “I wouldn’t want to spoil your evening.”

“Nonsense! If I’m being honest, I’m a little worried you’ll splinch yourself getting back with how distracted you are.”

Draco wanted to insist that he was fine, but he couldn’t shake the feeling of the attacker’s magical signature. He was anxious to get home and review the guest list for the night, and letting Harry Apparate him would get him there faster.

“If you insist,” he said, reaching out to take hold of Harry’s arm. “Whenever you’re ready.”

* * *

Harry felt a ripple of magic as they landed on a large area rug. The wards around Draco’s flat were _strong._ He spared a moment to feel flattered that Draco trusted him enough to bring him here, before it hit him that he was _in Draco’s flat_. He looked around curiously, and was surprised at what he saw. Draco’s decorating style was… eclectic. There was no other word for it. The room was opulent, but not in a traditional sense—there was a maroon velvet sofa with gold legs against a black wall painted with huge images of wildflowers. The floors were a dark wood—almost black, really—and the rest of the walls were either cream or maroon. There was a golden floor lamp with a shade that matched the painted wall, and much more maroon velvet furniture. Harry’s first thought was that Draco had decorated his flat in Gryffindor colours, but after a moment of thinking about it, he realised that these shades were more muted, giving the room a mature look.

Draco, of course, was not surprised with the way his own living room looked, and immediately wandered out of the room, leaving Harry standing awkwardly by the fireplace. There weren’t any pictures on the mantle, which made Harry wonder about Draco’s friends and family. He didn’t talk about anyone in his life, and he’d even mentioned at the gala that he’d lost touch with his friends after school. 

Just then, Draco walked back into the room, levitating a gold-rimmed glass of water. He set it down on a wooden coaster that matched the floors, and gestured at the sofa.

“Please, have a seat. I’m just going to the loo, I won’t be long. Make yourself at home in the meantime.”

Harry nodded, sitting down as Draco left again with a swish of his robes. He heard a door close somewhere else in the flat, making him wonder about the layout of the place. Were there many rooms? Did they look like this one? It occurred to him that this might be the perfect time to uncover some information about Draco. That had been his goal, after all, when he’d agreed to their first date. If Draco was in the loo for long enough, perhaps Harry could take a peek around—this flat looked posh enough to have a home office. Someone as neat as Draco would definitely keep files about secret dealings with the Unspeakables in a home office.

Harry stood up and crept toward the door. He listened for the sound of approaching footsteps, but when he heard nothing, he stepped out into a sparse hallway with grey walls. There were a few doors to the left, with light coming from underneath one of them—that must be the washroom. To the right was the only personal touch he’d seen in this flat so far—Draco’s broom, which was leaning against the wall next to the front door. It was the same broom he’d brought on their second date, a sleek Nimbus 3000. The competition from that afternoon had brought back a feeling of excitement that Harry hadn’t felt since Hogwarts. There had always been a unique thrill in challenging Draco, whether it was on the pitch during a game of Quidditch, or in the halls of Hogwarts as they taunted each other mercilessly.

Harry turned to stare down the hall at the collection of identical doors, wondering which one might be an office. It was probably a very risky move to be snooping around in Draco’s flat, especially since he’d only said he was going to the washroom—that wouldn’t take very long. Though he wasn’t a Gryffindor for nothing.

Leaning against the door frame, he contemplated his options. If he was being really honest with himself, he didn’t want to search Draco’s flat. Draco no longer felt like a rival that Harry had to get ahead of anymore. That nagging feeling that he was up to something seemed to have dissolved at some point over the past week.

He wandered back into the living room, wondering if his suspicions about Draco these days were just a leftover product of their childhood rivalry. Was he just so used to being wary of Draco’s actions that he couldn’t believe the man was innocent anymore? Harry didn’t like the idea that he was becoming a suspicious old fart—he wasn’t even 30, for Merlin’s sake. Hermione was probably right that he had a perfectly reasonable reason for visiting the Department of Mysteries that day. He really should learn to just give Draco the benefit of the doubt.

He looked up as Draco walked back into the room. His tie had been loosened and he was no longer wearing shoes—Harry smiled at the sight of little Nifflers dotting Draco’s dark blue socks. Despite his relaxed look, Draco was still devastatingly attractive, and Harry couldn’t help admiring his long legs as he walked over to the bar cart in the corner.

“Would you like a drink?” Draco offered, grabbing another gold-rimmed glass. Harry contemplated the offer. He could stay and have a drink or two with Draco. If he played his cards right, maybe he’d be invited to stay the night. That would certainly give him ample opportunity to look around.

But one look at Draco’s face reminded Harry how exhausted his host must be. That was why they were here, after all, because Draco had seemed ill at the gala. If Harry truly trusted Draco, he’d leave him to get some rest, rather than imposing on him just for a chance to search his office. 

In the end, the decision seemed rather clear to Harry. He shook his head as he stood up.

“No, thank you. I’ll get going, and let you get some rest.”

Draco gave him a soft smile, and Harry felt his heart melt at the sight. He moved to the fireplace, and was just about to step in when Draco grabbed his hand and spun him around. 

“Thank you for bringing me home, Harry,” he said softly. Harry was about to reply that he was happy to do it, when Draco leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on his cheek. It was such a chaste gesture, but at the same time it was so intimate, that all Harry could do was choke out a strangled goodnight and escape into the Floo. The spinning sensation distracted him for a moment, but by the time he stepped onto his own hearth, he had to face one inescapable fact—he was definitely falling for Draco Malfoy.


	13. Chapter 13

“Also, Agent Phi is going to be joining our weekly briefings.”

Agent Delta scowled at the news. Agent Eta was married to Agent Phi, and not as part of a mission either—they actually fancied each other. It was a rare occurrence for agents to get on like that, but it seemed to work for them... so far.

“Don’t give me that look,” Agent Eta scolded. “Agent Phi’s partner was compromised. Someone needs to debrief their cases until they get a new partner.”

“Does it have to be us?” 

“Agent Phi is the Auror Liaison for your Transfiguration case. It makes sense to me.”

Agent Delta let out an undignified snort. “I’m the one who’s doing all the work. Agent Phi just signs the paperwork.”

“You know that’s not true. Agent Phi was the one who found the connection between the first two patients, and they also gave you the financial records that the third victim was responsible for.”

“I thought pulling financial records was your job?”

This time it was Agent Eta’s turn to scowl. “You know full well that my job involves much more than pulling files. Anyway, Agent Phi was already examining the financial records when you asked. It’s not our fault you’re one step behind.”

“Agent Phi has worked with the patient before, they already knew that financial records would be relevant. I had to do the investigating to figure that out! I wouldn’t be one step behind if they’d just shared their findings with me.”

“Well then, isn’t it great that they’re joining our debriefings? You’ll get to know everything right away.”

Agent Delta hated being backed into a corner, but that was exactly what had happened here. Even if they hadn’t been working on the same case, Phi would probably still have joined their unit—Agent Phi and Agent Eta both had more seniority than Agent Delta. Deciding there was no point in arguing anymore, Agent Delta changed the topic.

“Did you bring the chewing gum this week?”


	14. Chapter 14

Harry could tell that Draco was nervous. It was actually quite sweet, if he was being honest. Draco had arrived at Harry’s place dressed in beautifully tailored trousers, paired with a black turtleneck and a navy blue blazer. The dark colours contrasted with his silvery blond hair, reminding Harry a little bit of an angel. The thought felt sacrilegious, however, because Draco looked _hot_.

“I’m overdressed,” Draco noted, taking in Harry’s tight jeans and his favourite jumper. Harry shook his head, smoothing his hand down Draco’s lapel and marvelling at the soft material. 

“You look great,” he said, giving his date a reassuring smile. “I’m excited for you to meet my friends.”

“I have met them before. Which is why I’m worried about tonight.”

“Don’t be,” Harry soothed. “That’s all in the past. They’re excited to meet you tonight.”

Draco didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t argue any more.

“We’d better get going then,” he said, offering his arm to Harry. “Wouldn’t want to be late.”

Harry rolled his eyes, but linked his arm in Draco’s anyway.

“It’s a _pub night_ , not an exam. There’s no need to arrive exactly on time.”

“Did you really arrive right on time for exams?” Draco asked curiously. “I would always worry if I wasn’t there at least ten minutes early. It takes time to find your seat and arrange your quills before the exam starts.”

Harry burst out laughing. “You arranged your quills before an exam?”

“Did you just have them in a pile on the corner of your desk then?”

Harry shook his head, still grinning. “I was the type of student who usually found a single bent, leaking quill in the bottom of his bag about three minutes before the start of the exam. Or I borrowed one from Hermione.”

Draco snorted. “So the rumours are true, then? That you and Weasley would have failed miserably if it wasn’t for Granger?”

“We’d definitely be dead by now if it weren’t for her, let alone passing school. When I think about it, I used to be pretty invested in school, especially in the first couple of years. I spent the summer before first year reading all my textbooks because magic was such a fascinating new concept to me.”

“What changed?” Draco asked. Harry shrugged, not wanting to get into a detailed discussion about why school hadn’t been his priority as a teenager. 

“Evil megalomaniac out to kill me, governments and major media outlets trying to defame me, deadly tournaments. You know, the usual. Now stop stalling, and let’s get going.”

Ignoring the way Draco’s chuckle made his heart flutter, Harry dragged him into the Floo. 

They found Harry’s friends at their usual table. He received a couple of raised eyebrows and confused stares—he’d only told Hermione and Ron that he was seeing Draco, after they’d interrogated him about why they’d danced together at the Gala. He’d warned the others that he was bringing someone he’d been seeing, but obviously none of them had expected _Draco Malfoy_.

“Harry, Draco! I’m glad you’re here!” 

“Luna. How are you?” Draco seemed to gravitate toward Luna, and sat down next to her. Harry took the seat on his other side.

“I’m well. Lots of Flinitores around tonight, so I’m drinking elderberry lemonade. The lemon wards them off.”

“That’s sensible of you,” Draco said kindly. “Do you know why there are so many of them about?”

Harry wondered if Draco actually knew what Luna was talking about, or if he was just humouring her. He glanced at Hermione, hoping for a clue—if Flinitores were real, she’d know what they were talking about. She seemed just as confused as Harry, however.

“Well, they’re attracted to auras of confusion and surprise. Since most people at this table are surprised that you’re the one dating Harry, there are a lot of them buzzing around.”

“Everyone is surprised at my presence?” Draco muttered, turning to glare at Harry. “You said you told them!”

“Well, I mentioned that I was seeing someone who I wanted to introduce tonight,” Harry said sheepishly. In hindsight, he really should have told everyone that it was Draco he was seeing.

“It’s alright,” Luna said kindly. “They’re already dispersing. Clearly everyone can already see that you’re a good match.”

Seamus and Neville sniggered from across the table, clearly amused by Draco’s discomfort. Harry glared at his friends—he’d made it clear that he wanted them to be polite to his date—but that only seemed to make them laugh harder. Dean and Ginny both had their hands over their mouths, as if they were trying not to laugh.

“So, how did you two meet?” Ron asked, shooting a warning look at the others. They mostly settled down, but Harry was sure this wasn’t the last of it.

“We’ve known each other since Hogwarts,” Draco pointed out. “Well, actually, we met once before that, at Madam Malkin’s, but neither of us knew who the other was at that point.”

“That’s not what he meant,” Ginny groaned, but Hermione interrupted.

“Really? You never mentioned that you’d met Malfoy before school.”

“Draco. My name is Draco.”

Harry placed a hand on Draco’s arm, reminding himself that the gesture was to comfort his date, not because his blazer was so soft.

“My apologies, Draco,” she corrected quickly. “When was this first meeting?”

“Actually, I think Draco might have been the first person I really met in the wizarding world. Aside from Hagrid, of course.”

“I don’t think you liked me very much back then,” Draco pointed out. 

“I didn’t,” Harry admitted. “But that’s changed now.”

The smile Draco gave him was brilliant, and Harry was happy to get lost in it. But Ginny and Seamus had started making gagging faces across the table, and Harry was getting annoyed. He was about to tell them off, when Neville started laughing.

“Merlin, you’re both so sappy. It’s almost nauseating to watch.”

Oh. Harry had been worried that his friends were making fun of Draco, but it turned out they were making fun of both of them. That felt more acceptable, and Harry allowed himself to relax.

“Sounds like you guys are jealous,” Harry teased. 

“Why would I be jealous of you when I’ve got Dean?” Seamus laughed. 

“That’s fair, since I’m in no way jealous of you now that I have Harry,” Draco shot back easily. He took hold of Harry’s hand as he spoke, giving his knuckles a little kiss. Harry wasn’t sure whether to mourn the loss of the soft blazer under his fingers, or to rejoice in the intimate gesture. 

“I still want to know how you guys went from hexing each other over Quidditch rivalries to this,” Ron said, with a general wave in their direction.

“We reconnected at the hospital,” Draco said easily. 

“Oh yeah, you’re a Healer, right? Why were you at the hospital, Harry?” Ginny asked worriedly. “Everything okay?”

Harry nodded, glancing at Draco as if the answer would be written on his face.

“You said you were there for a general appointment, right?” Draco supplied dutifully.

“Uh, yeah. Just a check-up.”

“Oh, have you finally registered with a General Healer?” Hermione asked curiously. “I’ve been reminding you to do that for years.”

“I… well, I meant to,” Harry said, trying to avoid Draco’s gaze. He could tell he was going to get a lecture about this later. “I, uh… well I got distracted talking to Draco.”

“He went to the hospital looking for a Healer and left with a date,” Dean deadpanned. “That kind of chaos sounds _exactly_ like Harry.”

Everyone else chuckled, and Harry felt himself blushing. It was true that he often got himself into frankly unbelievable situations, though it had been happening less often as he got older. 

“It’s not my fault trouble always finds me,” he grumbled. Draco turned to look at him.

“Are you saying I’m trouble?” he teased. Harry shook his head quickly, unsure how to respond, but Luna spoke up.

“Curiosity always leads to trouble,” she said easily. “You’ve always been fascinated by Draco. You used to follow him around at school, remember?”

“I did not,” Harry protested, trying to ignore Draco grinning like the cat that got the cream. He wasn’t the only one either—everyone else was also smiling.

“You left me at Slughorn’s Christmas party to follow him after he got caught by Filch,” she pointed out. 

“Did you really?” Draco asked, sounding both amused and awed. Harry bit his lip, feeling guilty for that. Not only had he witnessed what was probably a very emotional moment for Draco, he’d abandoned Luna in the process. She acted carefree enough that she must have still enjoyed the party, but he knew it had probably still felt awful to be left behind like that.

“I’m sorry for that, Luna,” he said genuinely. “Though in my defense, you _were_ up to something!” he added, focusing once more on Draco. For some reason, everyone else burst out laughing at that.

“Merlin, who would have guessed back then,” Neville said jovially. “That Harry’s obsession with Malfoy was actually because he fancied him?”

Seamus guffawed at that, and Dean and Ginny nodded in agreement. 

“Though it makes a lot of sense in hindsight,” Hermione added.

“I… that wasn’t… I wasn’t _obsessed!_ ” Harry spluttered. 

“I don’t mind,” Draco said, still grinning at him. “If I’m being honest, these days I’m fairly obsessed with you too.”

He put an arm around Harry’s shoulder, and Harry felt himself relax a bit. He’d got defensive about their jokes, but if he was being honest, his friends probably had a fair point. Draco had always been at the forefront of his mind at school, not unlike how things were these days.

“Okay, maybe I did pay more attention to you than normal,” Harry admitted, ignoring the way Ginny rolled her eyes at him.

“Harry and Draco, sitting in a tree!” Seamus started singing. “K-I-S-S-”

“Oh, shut up!” Harry groaned as everyone else started laughing again.

The ribbing and teasing continued throughout the night, but it was just good natured fun. At one point Ron started a trend of calling a toast for Harry and Draco every time a new round was bought (his favourite was “To Draco finally catching the Snitch for once in his life!”, which had caused Draco to pretend to pout for a few minutes), and it wasn’t long before the toasts started becoming increasingly ridiculous. Harry was used to such an atmosphere, however, and Draco seemed to be enjoying himself. Harry felt a sense of calm wash over him as he realised that everything was going his way. It felt _wonderful_.


	15. Chapter 15

Agent Delta had to bite back a scowl as Agent Eta gave them a pointed look from across the table. They couldn’t talk in such a noisy, crowded pub, but Agent Eta’s meaning was clear. This relationship was no longer necessary, and should be cut off immediately. It was a liability to the department, and, frankly, unfair to everyone involved. Agent Delta had always thought of themself as pragmatic, but here they were, sitting in the Leaky Cauldron trying to avoid Agent Eta’s unspoken reprimand. 

Agent Delta was clearly in over their head.


	16. Chapter 16

“I’ll have to head out soon,” Draco whispered to Harry, ignoring Longbottom’s description of one of his exotic new plants. “I have to be at the hospital tonight.”

Harry nodded, and downed the last of his drink.

“We’re heading out,” he announced, pulling Draco up with him. The Weasley girl wolf-whistled, and Draco was sure he and Harry had identical blushes.

“Shut up, Gin,” Harry said. “Draco has to work tonight.”

“Have fun at work, Draco!” Luna said genially. “And watch out for Pebbleskulled Icanhazbugs! The hospital is infested with them, but carrying malachite in your pocket should protect you.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Goodnight everyone, it was nice to make your re-acquaintance.”

“Posh git,” Harry snorted as they walked out into the street. “Who says _it was nice to make your re-acquaintance_ anymore?”

“Clearly I do,” Draco chuckled. “Does that bother you?”

Harry stopped walking and turned to face Draco. They were standing much closer than was probably appropriate for a public street, but Draco couldn’t bring himself to step away.

“On the contrary, I think it’s part of why I like you so much.”

“I’m glad to hear that. I really like you too, even if you don’t speak like a… what was the term you used again? Posh git?”

Harry’s eyes brightened.

“Do you have to be at work right away? If you have time, do you want to come to mine?”

Draco checked his watch, and realised he did have about half an hour before he needed to make his way to the hospital. He was about to accept Harry’s invitation, when he realised that he shouldn’t be encouraging things. Harry had made it clear tonight how much he cared about Draco. Going over to his place could only make it worse.

A minute later, Draco found himself in the old Black house, which Harry had inherited, scolding himself for being so weak-willed. Harry had given him a doe-eyed look that he hadn’t been able to resist. It seemed Draco wasn’t the only persuasive one out of the pair of them.

“Are you going back because of your new patient? What’s his name again?” Harry asked, sitting down on a well worn couch.

Draco nodded, and joined him. “Emmeril Goldhorn. We have to do a lot of his treatment while he’s asleep, because he won’t stop talking when he’s awake. Chatting with him has been interesting, though, he’s a very sharp guy. He’s in charge of the Ministry’s finances.”

“It’s a rather high-profile case, isn’t it? It was all over the _Prophet_ when he was first brought in.”

“Yes. He was Transfigured into an Occamy, in the middle of a large parlour. Having no control over his modified body, he grew to fit the room, as a normal Occamy would. Apparently the Aurors had a field day bringing him in.”

“They still don’t know who did it, do they?”

“No. None of the victims remember seeing their attacker.”

“I can’t think of any kind of connection between him and the other two either,” Harry mused. “Unless it was revenge for something, like with the Wizengamot member’s daughter?”

“Well, we don’t know for sure why Pertinger’s daughter was targeted. But Goldhorn brought up an interesting point when I was chatting with him yesterday. He said being turned into a creature made him think of the recent decision to cut funding to the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. But that department is so big—who could possibly have taken such offence to the reduction in funding?”

Harry’s eyes widened at this information. “Was it really? It was my review that recommended removing a couple of units from Magical Creatures. Oh Merlin, are these attacks my fault?”

This was news to Draco, though he didn’t have time to dwell on it because Harry had started shaking. He was quick to reassure Harry that financial cuts were a totally normal process in any government, and that these attacks were in no way his fault. But as he wrapped Harry up in a homemade blanket that was draped over the back of the sofa, he couldn’t help thinking that this might be the missing link. It wouldn’t be difficult to track down all the people whose jobs had been affected by the transition, and McGonagall could help him narrow the suspects down by NEWT results. 

“I tried my best to make sure they were reassigned to good positions,” Harry was still babbling. “Like the Creature By-Product Inspection Group! They didn’t need so many people anymore, since most creature by-products are imported these days. But I recommended they get transferred to The Department of International Magical Cooperation, to do quality inspection for imports!”

“That’s admirable, Harry,” Draco said gently, rubbing his back. He needed to get to the hospital soon, but he didn’t want to leave Harry alone in this panicked state.

“And Warren!” Harry blustered on. “I interviewed him for my review. He loves his job—he’s the head of CRUP, Creature Response in Urban Populations. He and his team respond to wild creatures when they wander into wizarding settlements. But since urban planning in the magical community has become more sustainable recently, there are fewer creatures wandering into shops and Quidditch pitches. He’s usually the one the Aurors call when there’s a dangerous creature in Diagon Alley, or in someone’s backyard. I wanted them to reassign him to the Veterinary Care team—he has a glowing recommendation from McGonagall on his Transfiguration NEWT—but he never did well enough in Potions, so they had to demote him instead.”

Now it was Draco’s turn to be stunned. Could this Warren bloke be the wizard he was looking for? It seemed too good to be true—the solution to a case rarely dropped into an agent’s lap like this. But he wasn’t one to look a gift Abraxan in the mouth.

He had to get to the hospital and check on Goldhorn, but he was also itching to figure this case out. Worrying Harry with his suspicions probably wasn’t the right way to go right now. He had to calm him down.

“Harry, look at me.” Draco kept his voice calm, but firm, as he took Harry’s face between his hands. “The decisions we have to make in life are never easy. You _know_ that. But that doesn’t mean we can avoid making them. If the people who care give up that responsibility, the choices fall into the hands of those who don’t. By doing this work, you’re making sure that the Ministry is following logic and research when deciding which budgets to cut, rather than arbitrarily slashing departments as they please.”

Harry seemed to be calming down now that he wasn’t talking himself into a frenzy, but he didn’t look any less saddened by the consequences of his work. Draco knew there wasn’t an easy fix to that one—Mind Healing took patience, and feelings of guilt were no exception. He conjured a glass of water for Harry, not wanting to go wandering around such a large house looking for a kitchen. Harry seemed lost in thought as he sipped the water.

“I feel awful for leaving you,” Draco said after a few minutes of silence. “But I really do need to get to the hospital.” 

Harry nodded, reaching over to place the glass on the coffee table. 

“Yeah, you should get going. Thanks for being there for me. Coming to the pub to meet my friends, and then sitting with me while I started panicking about my job. You really are a great guy.”

Draco felt his own sense of guilt creeping into his gut. He was lying to the one person who thought he was actually worth something, and could think of no way out of it, other than to break Harry’s heart. He stood quickly, needing to get away from Harry’s adoring gaze. He’d barely taken two steps toward the Floo, when Harry reached out and took his hand, pulling him back.

They locked eyes, Draco standing over Harry, who was still curled up on the couch. It was an unbearably tender moment, and Draco couldn’t help reaching out with his free hand and brushing the curls off of Harry’s face. It looked like Harry was about to say something, but after a moment he shook his head, and released Draco’s hand.

Draco couldn’t say what came over him at that moment. He knew more affectionate gestures would only hurt Harry when things inevitably came to an end between them. He knew he was setting them both up for heartbreak. But he couldn’t help himself as he leaned forward, and kissed Harry as gently as he could, right on top of his lightning bolt scar. 

“I’ll check on you tomorrow,” Draco promised. Harry nodded, and with that, Draco turned and stepped into the Floo.


	17. Chapter 17

After a long night of managing the Ministry Head of Finance’s heart condition, the last thing Agent Delta wanted was to see Agents Eta and Phi standing outside Delta’s office door.

“You know I could technically refuse you both entry,” Agent Delta mumbled, unlocking the office door and letting them both in. Agent Phi snorted as the pair settled on the couch, while Agent Delta took a seat at their desk.

“Well?” Agent Delta prompted. “Did you catch the culprit?”

Agent Phi nodded. “We looked into your lead. Guy named Warren Selpie, used to be the head of CRUP, but got demoted to policy assistant for the Pest Advisory Bureau. I brought him in for questioning, and everything fits. He was hoping that placing creatures in high-profile houses would make his division relevant again, and stop the budget cut. He picked the houses he did because the people who lived there were either directly or indirectly responsible for the budget cuts, so in a way it was revenge as well.”

“Did he have to Transfigure humans into animals though?” Agent Delta groaned, annoyed that they’d expended so much effort over the past weeks for such a petty plot. “Couldn’t he have just brought in live animals?”

Agent Phi shrugged. “I asked the same thing. He seemed to think that would be too tricky. He was hoping he would get called in to handle the creatures, and that he could discretely Transfigure them back after removing them from view of everyone else.”

“Sneaking a magical creature into someone’s house was harder than Transfiguring an unsuspecting victim into one?”

“Common sense is uncommon in common people,” Agent Eta pointed out. “How did you suddenly get all the information you gave us? Selpie wasn’t listed in the records I gave you.”

“Harry was telling me about Selpie tonight, and I pieced the clues together. I don’t think he realises yet that Selpie was the culprit. He was wracked with guilt over the fact that his review led to budget cuts and job reassignments.”

Agent Eta gave Agent Delta the same disapproving look from the pub.

“You know what I’m going to say.”

“I’m not actually a Legilimens,” Agent Delta said petulantly. This wasn’t a conversation they were looking forward to.

“You can’t keep dating him,” Agent Phi stated bluntly. 

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” Agent Delta muttered. 

“The case has been solved,” Agent Eta reminded him. “And he’s no longer sneaking around trying to catch you out. You said the relationship was strictly for professional purposes. There’s no need for it now.”

“What if I still have my suspicions that he’s investigating me?”

“You don’t.” Agent Phi was nothing if not direct. “You’ve become attached, and frankly, so has he. I know it’s going to hurt, but waiting is only going to make it worse. You need to break up with him.”

Agent Delta had known this conversation was coming, but that didn’t make it any easier. It was so tempting to beg and plead with Agent Eta and Agent Phi. Surely he could manage a romantic relationship alongside his work.

“It won’t work,” Agent Eta said sadly, as if they knew exactly what Agent Delta was thinking. “You don’t like lying. Your guilt will eat away at your relationship. Either that, or he’ll compromise you. It’s a recipe for disaster.”

Agent Delta opened their mouth to argue, but the words wouldn’t come. Agents Eta and Phi were making logical arguments. But Agent Delta was learning now that matters of the heart didn’t quite follow logic. There was nothing Agent Delta could say that would convince them.

Just then, an owl tapped at the window. Agent Phi leaned over and let it in, accepting the missive that was clearly not for them.

“That’s my mail, thank you,” Agent Delta said pointedly, Summoning the note.

“It’s from Harry,” Agent Phi pointed out. “What does it say?”

Agent Delta unfolded the paper, which was clearly torn out of a notebook. Knowing that Agents Eta and Phi would get a hold of it eventually, Agent Delta read it out loud.

> “Thank you again for being there for me last night. I’ve been up all night thinking about your words, and you’re right (as usual). This is my way of helping people, and it’s important work. 
> 
> I hope you had a good night at work. I’m going to get some sleep now, and I imagine you want to do the same. Will you come over this evening? Let me know.
> 
> -H”

“This is your chance,” Agent Eta said immediately. “Meet him tonight, and let him down gently.”

“But he… I can’t,” Agent Delta said, a note of pleading in their voice.

“You can, and you will,” Agent Phi said firmly. Their expression softened. “I know it’s not ideal. But it’s necessary. As much as you’re trying to argue, you know it is.”

The finality of Agent Phi’s words hung in the air as Agents Eta and Phi stood up and left. Agent Delta was left staring out the window at the rising sun, contemplating their options. Surely there had to be another way.

Agent Delta pulled out a sheet of parchment and started to write. If there was a way, they knew exactly who would find it.


	18. Chapter 18

“Draco, over here!” McGonagall waved him over to the same table in the corner. 

“Professor. Punctual as ever,” he said with a smile, taking his seat opposite her.

“Draco, we’ve been over this. Please, call me Minerva.”

“I… yes, sorry. Thank you for meeting me on such short notice, _Minerva_.”

“I’m always happy to meet former students when the opportunity presents itself,” she said genuinely. “It’s a wonderful feeling to see everything they accomplish. I always feel like a proud parent when I see headlines such as this morning’s.”

“This morning? I haven’t seen today’s paper yet.” Draco glanced around, hoping someone might have left a copy on a nearby table, but he had no such luck.

“It was about the Transfiguration attacks. It was disappointing to see that Mr Selpie would sink to such low tactics for petty revenge, he graduated only a few years ahead of you and was a bright student. The press didn’t mention who worked on the case, only that it was complicated. But I had complete faith that you’d figure it out.”

Draco could tell he was blushing. He wasn’t used to people being proud of him.

“I don’t know how much longer it would have taken to figure it out if Harry hadn’t known Selpie. He pieced it together last night, when I was telling him about the case.”

“Watching Harry grow up taught me to never discount luck, both good and bad,” McGonagall mused. “I suggest you do the same, since you’re now dating him.”

Draco stared into his water glass, wondering how he could admit to McGonagall that he wasn’t dating Harry at all. He’d thought she would be the best person to turn to for advice, but now that it was time, he couldn’t even bring himself to speak.

“Draco? You’re very quiet all of a sudden.”

Draco nodded, still not trusting his voice. He felt his eyes stinging, and couldn’t believe that he was going to start crying about this.

“Draco?” Mcgonagall reached out and covered his hand with her own, prompting him to look up at her.

“Is this about Harry?” she asked gently. Realising he could no longer shove the issue aside, Draco took a deep breath and nodded. He took his hand back, and wiped his eyes.

“I’ve been dating him as a way to keep an eye on him. He kept sneaking around, trying to uncover my work. I figured courting him would be a good way to keep him away from my work and to control how much information he had. But recently, it’s become more and more obvious that he’s no longer suspicious of me. He’s dating me because _he likes me._ He’s no longer a mission—I need to end this relationship before he gets too attached.”

“But you don’t want to,” McGonagall said knowingly. “You’ve become attached as well.”

Draco still wanted to deny it, but she was right. Why else would he be sitting here crying to her instead of in London breaking up with Harry?

“I want to tell him the truth. I don’t want to be lying to him anymore. Unspeakables… we don’t usually have relationships. And if we do, it’s usually with other Unspeakables. I’ve thought about trying to recruit Harry to the department, but he wouldn’t want that. But if I tell him, doesn’t that create a precedent, that all Unspeakables can tell their significant other about their work?”

McGonagall considered him. “As of this moment, I’m the only non-Unspeakable who knows about the monitoring program, correct?”

Draco nodded. “I think the Minister knows, but yes, other than the two of you, and maybe a few spouses of retired Unspeakables, it’s a secret.”

“I find it hard to believe that not a single Unspeakable has a romantic relationship outside the department.”

“They… no, they don’t, really. Usually when someone gets involved in a relationship, they retire from the Department of Mysteries. If their significant other is worth resigning their position for, they can usually be trusted with a broad idea of what the department is doing.”

“Well then, that seems to be your answer.”

“To resign?” 

McGonagall nodded. Draco took exactly three seconds to consider it, before shaking his head. 

“I… I can’t. My life’s ambition is to be a Healer. The only way I can do that is as the Unspeakable Liaison at St Mungo’s.”

“I’m not sure it is,” McGonagall offered. “Anyway, you’re not exactly doing much healing as an Unspeakable. Sounds to me like you’re doing a lot more spying and investigating.”

“It’s not ideal,” Draco agreed. “But it’s not like St Mungo’s will take me. They’ve made it clear that they don’t trust me to be on their staff.”

“A pity, that. Though, personally, I would be loath to work in a place that has such outdated values.”

Draco shrugged. “I guess I’m used to it. My office is fairly isolated so I don’t often have to face what people think of me.”

McGonagall looked like she wanted to say something, but at that moment, the server returned with their drinks. Once she was gone, Draco gestured for McGonagall to continue, but she merely shrugged.

“It seems you have a lot of thinking to do, Draco. To decide between the man you love and your career is not an easy task.”

“Yeah. Oh, look at me, whining about my problems before the drinks have even arrived. How have you been?”

McGonagall smiled, taking a sip of her liquorice fizz.

“I’ve been well. We’re dealing with some staffing changes up at the school.”

“Staffing changes? Has someone resigned?”

“Retired, actually. Poppy just celebrated her 75th birthday, and after a couple of glasses of mead she announced that she was _absolutely too old to be healing stupid teenagers anymore_. It was funny in the moment, but it seems I am now in need of a Healer to run the Hospital Wing.”

Draco prided himself on being eloquent and composed in all his dealings, but somehow, the pointed look that McGonagall gave him made him feel like an awkward teenager once more. 

“You don’t mean…”

“I’d like to invite you to apply for the position.” Well, McGonagall was nothing if not straightforward. Though if Draco was being fair, they both knew that there was no way he’d turn the offer down.

“I… yes, I’d be honoured! What do you need from me? A resume? Statement of intent? References? We can schedule a formal interview at your convenience as well.”

McGonagall laughed. 

“I think I know you well enough that those things won’t be necessary, Draco. For paperwork’s sake, send me your resume, and I’ll write down this meeting as our interview. Poppy said it would be ideal if you could start sooner rather than later so that she has ample time to show you everything.”

Draco nodded eagerly, surprised at how easily everything seemed to be falling into place. As he reached across the table and shook McGonagall’s hand, he couldn’t help thinking that it was about time.

* * *

When Draco stepped out of Harry’s Floo that evening, Harry was still sitting on the sofa where he’d left him last night. He looked adorably sleep-rumpled as he greeted Draco with a soft peck on the cheek. He hated to return such a soft gesture with bluntness, but he didn’t want to chicken out.

“Harry. We need to talk.”

Predictably, Harry looked confused, but he gave Draco his attention anyway.

“Talk about what?”

“About us. Our relationship.”

“Draco, what…”

“When did it become real for you?” Draco blurted. 

“I don’t understand. When would this not have been a real relationship?”

“At the beginning, you were dating me because you were looking for information.” Harry paled at that, but Draco pressed on. “I’m not mad, Harry. I just… I want to know. When did you stop spying on me, and when did you start actually liking me? I mean… _do_ you actually like me?”

Harry was silent for a moment, before nodding. 

“Of course I do, Draco. And honestly, I think I have for a long time. I can’t pinpoint exactly when I broke the habit of wondering what you were up to, but it was pretty early on.”

Draco nodded, uncertain of how he should proceed. Before he could decide, Harry spoke again.

“You’re really not mad at me?”

Draco shook his head quickly. He took a deep breath before answering Harry’s question.

“No. In fact, I’ve been lying to you too.”

“What do you mean?”

“I… I’m not a Healer. Not a real one, anyway.”

“But… you work at the hospital! You healed the victims of those Transfiguration attacks!”

“I did. I have the training of a Healer, and I admittedly do a lot of the same work as them. But in reality...” He hesitated, before chiding himself for being so cowardly. “I’m an Unspeakable. I was assigned to St Mungo’s, as a spy of sorts, to be able to keep an eye on what was happening there and manage very high profile or complex cases.”

Harry looked stunned at the revelation. Draco watched patiently as Harry pieced together the clues.

“So that’s why you wouldn’t take appointments,” Harry said slowly. “And why you never gave me a straight answer on what type of Healing you do!”

Draco nodded, glad that Harry’s tone wasn’t overly accusatory.

“Wait, that’s why I saw you going into the Department of Mysteries!”

Draco frowned. “When did you see me going into the Department of Mysteries?”

Harry blushed at that. “I, um… I’ve never been very trusting of Unspeakables, if I’m being honest. They’re the only department at the Ministry that we don’t have oversight over, and that’s always made me a little suspicious. I may have… well, I did a little spying of my own.”

Draco couldn’t help laughing at Harry’s confession. This must have been when Alternate Entrance Management botched the connection between his office and his lab.

“Don’t laugh! I was right, wasn’t I? You were up to something! Granted, I thought it was something more sinister, like experiments on unsuspecting patients.” He backtracked quickly when Draco gave him a horrified look. “Well I know _now_ that it’s not that! But what you’re doing isn’t exactly above board either, is it?”

“We do have ethical overview,” Draco explained. “The Department of Mysteries isn’t running completely unchecked. It just doesn’t go through your office.”

“No wonder Hermione never pushes the subject. She knows about your overview, doesn’t she?”

“You can’t tell her you know,” Draco said conspiratorially. He knew it would come out eventually, and that Hermione would kill him when it did, but he couldn’t bring himself to care about that at the moment. The fact that Harry was taking this so well was making him deliriously happy. “But it’s actually she who reviews our work. She’s just bound to secrecy.”

“Aren’t you bound to secrecy as well?” Harry asked. “Will you get in trouble for telling me all of this?”

Draco shook his head. “I’ve resigned. I couldn’t lie to you anymore. You mean too much to me.”

“You—what? But you love healing! As much as you’ve always talked in circles about your job, it’s still been clear how passionate you are about being a Healer.”

Draco nodded. He took a moment to gather his thoughts before responding.

“I do love healing. But being the Unspeakable Liaison at St Mungo’s, I was doing a lot more surveillance and investigation than healing. I convinced myself that it was the only way to work in my dream career, since St Mungo’s wouldn’t hire me directly, but I wasn’t doing what I love.”

“But if St Mungo’s won’t hire you, you can’t be a Healer at all!”

“That’s what I thought too. Until I spoke to Headmistress McGonagall this morning.”

“You spoke to Minerva?”

Of course Harry was comfortable on a first name basis with their old professor. Though he supposed it could only help—he’d have to get used to it too if he was to work with her.

“I did. I consulted with her on the Transfiguration attacks, and she happened to mention that Madame Pomfrey is retiring. It seems Hogwarts is looking for a new Healer to manage the Hospital Wing.”

He waited patiently as Harry made the connection, his face lighting up when he did. Draco loved how expressive Harry was. It was part of what made him such a genuine person.

“That worked out perfectly,” Harry exclaimed. “When do you start?”

“Madame Pomfrey wants me there as soon as possible. I’ll stay in touch with whoever replaces me for a while, just to help transfer all my responsibilities, but the change is going to be pretty much immediate.”

“Will you move to Hogsmeade?”

Draco hadn’t quite hammered out the details yet, but now that Harry mentioned it, the thought of moving out of his current flat made him quite sad. Very few people had ever seen what it looked like, but it was so quintessentially Draco—he’d put hours of work into making it entirely his space. On those days when being an Unspeakable had become unbearably lonely and confusing, his flat had been the one safe haven where Draco could truly be himself. He wasn’t going to need that anymore, but it wasn’t something he was ready to part with just yet.

He didn’t know how to say all that to Harry though. As much as he’d fallen head-over-heels for him, their relationship was still relatively new. It was a discussion they would certainly have one day, but it didn’t matter right now. They had all the time in the world to figure it out.

“Perhaps one day. For now, the lodgings at the castle will be enough, I’m sure. If today’s students are anything like you were, I’m sure I won’t be having much free time anyway.”

“It sounds like you’re going to be busy,” Harry said. Draco could tell he was trying to appear casual, as if hiding something that was bothering him. “And living so far away too…”

Draco suddenly understood. Harry was worried about their relationship.

“Yeah. It’s going to be a lot of work maintaining a long-distance relationship. But I’ll tell you another secret, Harry. You’re absolutely worth it.”

And there was that smile again, the one that lit up Harry’s entire face. It made Draco’s heart pound in a way that was at once terrifying and exhilarating. Inexplicably, Draco’s thoughts drifted to the most secretive of his now ex-colleagues. The Unspeakable team who studied Love Magic really did deserve more applause for their work—matters of the heart were complicated.

“So, does this mean you’re going to start taking me on dates to Hogsmeade?” Harry asked shyly, once again pulling Draco out of his thoughts. “I’ve always thought it was a beautiful village.”

Draco grinned, slinging an arm around Harry’s shoulder and pulling him close.

“Well, I do know of this one pub...”


	19. Chapter 19

“Did you end it?”

“Nope,” Agent Delta said smugly. Agent Eta looked like they were about to argue, but Agent Delta beat them to it.

“I resigned instead. Congratulations, you two are partners now. Though I’m sure they’ll split you both up as soon as they hire my replacement—married couples never do well as work partners.”

“As if you would know what being married is like,” Agent Phi grumbled, putting an arm around Agent Eta’s waist. Agent Eta smiled at Agent Phi, and the display of affection made Agent Delta’s heart swell. They couldn’t begin to describe the feeling of relief now that they were free to do the same.

“I can only hope that one day I will.”

* * *

“Harry! What is this?” Draco demanded, stepping into the crowded pub. Harry had let him believe this was just going to be a regular pub night with friends, but clearly Draco had caught on to the fact that there were patented Weasley balloons dancing above the table, with a large cake right underneath.

“I thought it might be nice to celebrate your new job,” Harry said, leading Draco over to the group. They were greeted by a chorus of congratulations and well wishes. 

“I’m glad you’re going to be working at Hogwarts,” Luna said serenely as Draco sat next to her once again. “You’ll do a good job of dispelling the Wrackspurts in anxious students. You do remember how to deal with them, right?”

Draco was spared from having to answer when Ron leaned over and handed him a small green box with a white triangle on it.

“This is from Hermione and me,” Ron explained. “Just a little congratulations on your new position.”

“You’re going to do a great job as Hogwarts’ resident Healer,” Hermione added.

Harry was touched that his friends cared enough about his boyfriend to get him a gift. It struck Harry that he should probably get Draco a congratulations gift as well. Curious as to what that could look like, he leaned over as Draco opened the box.

He snorted as he saw the contents. He was sure he could come up with a better gift for Draco than a pack of bubblegum. But as he noticed the pleased smile on Draco’s face, probably from being included in the group, Harry realised that it didn’t really matter. He’d already given Draco his heart. There couldn’t be a better gift than that.

**Author's Note:**

> The symbol for the Greek Letter Delta is a triangle.
> 
> ===
> 
> This fic is part of HD Erised 2020; thank you so much for reading! You can show your appreciation for the author in a comment below. ♥


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